


IF YOU SHOULD BEG

by hamletmustdie



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: A LOT of Angst ladies and gents, Alcohol, Angst, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Computer Viruses, Dib's usual parental issues, Drinking, Eventual ZaDr, Eye Trauma, M/M, Mutual Pining, Strangulation, Swearing, Tags will change as the story progresses, everybody's got secrets, gore (ch. 5 onwards), implied self harm, traumatized characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamletmustdie/pseuds/hamletmustdie
Summary: A failed attempt to please the Tallest's leaves Zim's PAK compromised by murderous malware that renders him unrecognizable. Dib is frantic to save him, left alone on a hostile planet he doesn't know - and with only hours to prevent Zim from killing them both.
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 127
Kudos: 285





	1. forgotten birthdays

“ _You have one unheard message.”_

Dib blinked at the green number in the gloom of his living room. It was almost two am and he was soaking wet. A flash of lightning and the apartment lit up in sharp white. For an instant, it was so quiet he could hear the alarm clock in his bedroom, ticking softly away… Then thunder crashed, rain pounded on his window, and everything came back to him in stunning, stark clarity. Funny how when lightning struck everything felt a little false. Like horror movie set lighting. 

_Why do I have a landline again?_

Twenty year olds don’t have landlines, Dib thought, then reached out and pressed a button.

 _“Message received at one twenty four pm.”_ The automated voice read out a nine digit number, and Dib’s blood went a little cold. _Dad…_

He must’ve called him right after he left, because he’d known Dib wouldn’t have answered. Bold of him to call at all, in fact - Dib’s finger hovered over the delete message button before it even began.. He couldn’t press down, equally thought he couldn’t bear to hear his father’s voice, not yet, not after -

His hands were throbbing painfully. Dib let the message play.

His father’s voice, in all his strange, false bravado near boomed; “ _Hello son. I just realized I never congratulated you on receiving your degree four months ago! While I am unsure of the scientific potential behind a Minor in Paranormal Science, I am glad you simply finished! A father couldn’t be more proud. I do hope you’ll think hard on the proposal offered to you. Oh, and happy birthday, son!”_ He thought he heard the toot of a kazoo. His father had a lot of strange toys. He collected action figures and dolls of himself, he had an official Professor Membrane puppet, an original prop from a children’s science program on Saturday mornings, one he’d been fond of using when Dib was small. The little brown, fabric hands rubbing together as his father stood over him explaining all the dangers of not flossing. Mouth Cancer. Blackened, rotting teeth. Terrible pain. Etcetera. Dib blinked at the answering machine. Waited. Waited.

Wait. Was that it?

After everything, not even some sort of encouragement? _You’re worth it? I love you?_ What about _I’m sorry I basically neglected you during the most essential part of your brain's development and molded you into the depressed, deadbeat loser you are now?_

_A deadbeat loser with the chance to start over._

But instantly his blood curdled and he shuddered, a wave of anxiety swelling to form in the middle of his throat. 

His living room was silent. Even the rain felt hushed, the thunder nonthreatening. There was a puddle growing around him, water spreading thinly onto the wood. He hadn’t taken an umbrella from his dad’s house when he’d stormed out; he’d been so distracted, he hadn’t even noticed the rain falling until he was halfway home. How long had he just been standing here before the answering machine had sharpened in his vision? He started to shiver. His glasses kept misting.

Dib Membrane lived alone. His sister called occasionally, usually to make sure he hadn't died and wasn’t rotting away in his bedroom. He never graduated college; that was either a fabrication on Gaz’s part to keep their dad from bothering him, or misinformation- maybe he wasn’t listening when Dib threw his last tantrum and told his father never to call back - indeed, never to speak to him again. That _had_ been about five or four months ago now. The lack of apprehension in his father’s voice bespoke more of a general sense of aloofness - especially now. Or maybe he was giving him too much credit - he never put much merit in Dib’s emotions. He would always “grow out of it”. “Come to his senses”. “Move on from his petty, strange obsessions with the supernatural to the glory of _real_ science”.

_‘If you are interested in this procedure - it is entirely up to you, son- but’_

Dib reached out. Pressed a button on the answering machine.

“ _Delete message?”_

“ _Message deleted.”_

Everything, the whole world finally returned to sharp resolution - Dib felt a long panic attack finally release him back into reality.

He turned from the answering machine to face the issue at hand; that he was soaking wet.

He shucked off his jacked, trudged over to the bathroom, started up the shower, ducking under clotheslines gripping polaroids. His bathroom doubled as a red room. One switch made the room yellow, as it did now; the other made it blood red, and gave him a headache. Nonetheless - his collection here was something to be proud of, paranormal science dropout or not. Big feet, Mothman (his _favorite_ ), Sirens, zombies - and so much more hung in fairly decent sharpness along the fishing lines that criss-crossed in his bathroom. 

He spared no glances into the mirror, but he did pause at the sink to stare down at his hands; the gashes across his palm were deep, although they’d stopped flowing sometime on the way home. Turning his hands over, he found his knuckles were brown with dried blood and flaking, broken skin. 

He thought of water gushing from tall vats. The way the glass had shattered under his fist. _‘You’re making a terrible mistake, Dib-’_

It was hardly one in the morning, but after rinsing off, he thought he might just climb into bed. Maybe he’d sleep through tomorrow. Maybe he’d-

In the living room, the phone rang shrilly. He paused, dragging hands over his face. Dib forced himself to ignore it, immediately regretting not blocking the number earlier.

“- _party you are trying to reach, DIB MEMBRANE, is not available right no-_

“ _Putrid HUMAN I know you are listening to this inferior Earth device RING, I know you’re HOME! Answer ! Answer me! Answer Zim! I command you to pick up the phone! PICK UP THE PHONE!”_

Zim’s voice in his house was always a little alarming.

“- _FINE! Your incessant INTERRUPTIONS would have only caused me a greater HEADACHE! It is of the UTMOST, VITAL importance that you bring your stinking, smelly, and pathetic body to my base AT ONCE. And I will not simply lure you over to merely shoot you with lazers, like last time, although, that_ was _fun- BUT NO! I require you IMMEDIATELY. Ehh,”_ Zim paused. He didn’t know how to end messages. “ _Yes. Arrive quickly. Your almighty overlord, out.”_

Dib watched hot water turn pink in the sink and counted to ten then listened to the phone ring again. Zim’s voice cut in a second time, leaving a second message. Another ten seconds, and in came a third, fourth, fifth. Shrill, breaking, as if he’d never lost the ability for his voice to crack like some twelve year old boy. Did Irkens experience puberty? Dib had discovered their bodies _did_ experience some changes akin to puberty, such as growth spurts and growth _stunts,_ but all that awkward stickiness in between was yet to be remarked upon. And while Zim _had_ changed emotionally…

Dib let that thought run off, into various hallways where all the doors were locked (and not of his own doing, mind you). 

After a hot shower (and two more messages from Zim), he dressed again, a clean shirt, the one other jacket he had near identical to the first (but not so long - sometimes he wasn’t in the mood for the Matrix-mysterious vibe). He took his backpack, all the usual things he brought when he was with Zim, notepads, translators, weapons (despite their truce - Irken’s had unique ways of showing camaraderie), and voice recorders - then a change of clothes, his medication, and a few snacks. Invitations to Zim’s base often lasted into several days, what with the lack of windows and Earth clocks. Time slipped away easily. 

He needed distraction. Zim was a great distraction. Maybe he could convince Zim to go ghoul hunting with him later. He lacked in the ghoul department as far as evidence was concerned, if only because they were slimy, and Dib avoided messes when he could - he wasn’t twelve years old anymore.

The phone rang again. This time Dib rushed over to it, slipping on the puddle. Zim was leaving a furious, eighth message with threats of arriving and scalping him when he ripped the receiver from the hook.

“Jesus _Christ,_ Zim, I’m coming-”

“You have been IGNORING ZIM THIS ENTIRE-”

“Maybe I was busy? Maybe I just got home, did you think of that Zim?”

A brief pause. He could hear Gir giggling somewhere. Zim hissed, “ _SHHH, you’ll ruin EVERYTHING,”_ before he seemed to face the receiver again. “You have kept me waiting long enough, when shall you arrive-”

“I don’t know, twenty minutes-”

“Too long!”

“Shut _up,_ ” Dib hung up. 

He was fumbling for his keys when he paused - _oh, and happy birthday son!_ Was it his birthday? A calendar hung from the fridge - it was two months behind. He flipped it to today, marked up the days until he was all caught up. 

It _was_ his birthday. And that made his father the first and likely only person who would tell him today. What did that make him now, twenty-two? Did that even _count_ , given what he knew now? What was age to someone - _something -_ like him? 

Dib jammed his key into the lock and shook his head. His father’s voice, melodramatic, _‘Certainly a scientist can always try again, son, but you see- you_ are _the third attempt. It’s only - disappointing-’_

Dib slammed the door behind him.

  
  


Zim’s house was a bus ride and fifteen minute walk from Dib’s place. He hadn’t wanted to be so far away. It was certainly far more difficult to keep up with whatever Zim was up to, but given the last few years that wasn’t so concerning anymore. 

The rain had slowed to a miserable drizzle, and a mist was trying to form in the woods that overlooked the city on the hilltops. Whiteness spilled downward towards the neighborhoods on the outskirts. Great weather for hunting cryptids - Dib could picture shapes in the mist, black and hulking. 

He could see Zim’s house through the haze Despite everything, little had changed. The ghomes, the puffer fish, the intruding wires and tubes, the bioluminescent like glow which for some reason _no one_ ever pointed out - all of it remained. 

Dib trudged up the walkway; the gnomes, though still, seemed almost stiff. He knew their eyes were following him. Years ago, he’d have to get across this lawn as if it were a minefield. Years ago, he might’ve used a window.

Dib raised his fist to knock -

The door swung open, and Dib looked down. He blinked, feigning disinterest.

“Where’d you pull that thing out of?”

“Wha-” Zim blinked up at him, then looked down at himself. Dib hadn’t seen Zim in his uniform in months, and the last time he had, it’d been tattered, blood stained, ruined-

Now, it was without a wrinkle, pressed and pristine. Dib had thought he’d gotten rid of the thing. Zim had since taken to hoodies, fitted clothes covered by long coats, no matter the weather. Tall boots and leggings, sweaters.  _ I heart New York  _ t-shirts and strange steals from thrift shops. Zim also wore skirts and dresses, something that Dib had noted once, before he’d torn the page out. 

Oh, and the gloves - the gloves remained, always.

Funny how something he’d seen near constantly for years hadn’t been apparently missing until it was back again. 

A flash of something that might’ve been embarrassment crossed over Zim’s eyes, then he looked up, scowling. He stuck out his chest, crossed his arms. “I am _still_ an Invader, you know,”

“Of course,” Dib said quickly - there was territory looming way ahead that Dib hadn’t seen in a while. “It’s just-”

“ _This_ is my rightful attire for any missions-”

“Mission?” He tilted his head.

“Nevermind! I am dressed this way simply because we are going out tonight-”

“Out?”

“Quit speaking, human!” Zim stepped aside and Dib crossed the threshold. As soon as he did, Zim hissed in disgust. “You are dripping wet!”

“Yeah, it’s raining-”

“Zim can tell the weather! Could your fickle brain cells, despite their _dwindling numbers,_ not think to grab an umbrella?” Zim clapped his hands twice and a metal arm came down from the ceiling high above. When Dib looked at the door he’d stepped through, there were two small puddles on the floor. “Gir! Get out of that, that's disgusting!” Already, Gir was doing circles in his dog suit in a puddle- circles on the side of his head, of course. The metallic arm lifted Gir up by his head like tweezers; a second hand began to scrub the floor. “So rude,” Zim muttered.

Dib was walking backward onto the couch, which he collapsed into. “Sorry,” In recent years, Zim had taken to furnishing his house more appropriately, of course, from Dib’s suggestions whether he cared to admit it or not. There were purple pillows on the couch now, a coat rack by the door. Pictures on the walls - Zim liked picking random ones from searches on the internet. Besides that, there were also many pictures of him and Gir, things which resembled 80’s-era family portraits, complete with awkward fade ins and stiff poses. And sweaters. Zim just liked sweaters.

“You are a terrible guest,”

“You called me here,”

Zim glared at him, though it lacked much heat. “Yes, I suppose I did. You shall be assisting me in visiting the planet _Meekleroth._ There are materials I need that my computer cannot supply me with. And you are always whining about space travel, so you might as well make yourself useful and glimpse the backwater alleyways of this galaxy which are not your own solar system,”

“Backwater, huh?”

Zim approached him, slowly, looking him up and down. “You smell like filth, Dib-creature,” 

“Thanks, I just showered,” 

Zim scowled before he spun on his heel and marched for the elevator - a proper one, as Dib was too long and lanky and just broad enough to no longer fit in the ridiculous toilet that remained in his kitchen. No one said anything that Zim had accommodated him. These things were precarious anyway. Dib hopped off the couch just as the metallic arms unceremoniously dropped Gir. He followed after both of them.

Dib stuffed his hands into his pockets. As the elevator descended, Zim tapped his foot impatiently. His left antennae twitched once. 

Dib cleared his throat. “So what, uhh, materials, are you needing from uh- meek...rob-”

“NOT MEEKROB!” Zim hissed. “That is a filthy, traitorous planet, earth-smelly. No, we are going to _Meekleroth._ Zim has many contacts there - it is a, ahh, how shall I put it?” The elevator doors flew open and Zim marched out. The base pulsed it’s usual magenta and dark purples. “It is what you might refer to as a _black market planet._ I sell Irken weapons there,” he grinned, going to a long control panel at one end of the room, gesturing - a screen came down and the planet appeared. It was black and red and slime green. Zim faced Dib. “It’s a barren planet. A _wasteland_ indeed, the entire planet’s population and it’s cities live upon bridges and terribly high scaffolding. It’s a common sport for creatures to fight upon spikes which jut out from the planet's surface - loser is tossed into the toxic abyss below. I won a spider monkey in a bet during one, once,”

As he spoke, images of the planets “surface” scrolled by. Indeed, from high above the planet looked like a mass of webs - metal and wooden-appearing scaffolding held the city up in all it’s neon lights, and bridges and ropes connected masses of land. There were towering black buildings and tunnels which burrowed and crossed between land masses. Below and sometimes obscuring some of the bridges, green clouds drifted up from the planet’s floor. Dib thought of the marianna’s trench and shuddered.

“What are we getting?”

“Oh, many things,” Zim waved a hand then strode past him,

Dib shrugged. “Could I bring some stuff back, too?”

Zim hummed pleasantly. “Perhaps. I doubt you will find much that your feeble brain could even _BEGIN._ To comprehend. But,” he coughed, and the rest of his words ran into each other, “if there is something theDibwantsZimshallprovide.”

Dib smiled but said nothing. Zim busied himself briefly at a control panel and instructed his Computer to put the base under ultra-safe mode, and to watch for intruders. Then, he led Dib to the house’s topmost floor.

It had been part of their truce - Zim would allow Dib access to far reaches of the galaxy (under his observation of course - Zim had insisted on this). This final anecdote meant Zim’s voot cruiser, especially as Dib had gotten older, would simply not do. They both found it to be far too claustrophobic. 

It had taken a week for Zim to build a better, bigger ship, and Dib had helped. Granted, he hadn’t been able to do much - but he had learned a lot of Irken in the process, and the complexities of their technology. Loathe he was to admit it, humanity was likely several hundred years behind technologically. Maybe even thousands.

Dib was settled into the copilot's seat (in appearance only - Zim had _never_ let Dib fly or control his ship).

“... I can grab parts for Tak’s ship… And I’ll bring my camera-”

“No pictures!”

“Oh come on, Zim, I’ll leave you out of them,”

Zim threw a glare of his shoulder as he prepared the ship's control panel, “You are allowed five.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He was digging through his backpack at his feet when a soft _shhh_ soft made him still, and then there was a cold, sharp _something_ poking beneath his chin, urging him to turn his head. To his right, Zim had come so close, he could see the brilliant, kaleidoscope patterns set deep into the Irken’s eyes, like an insects. He swallowed.

His heart was in his throat.

“Um-”

“What’s the matter with you?” Zim demanded, examining his face. Through his gloves, Zim’s thumbnail poked Dib’s cheek.

“What- what the hell, Zim-” His face felt suddenly hot. When he tried moving backward, Zim held him in place. 

“You _do_ look _horrible_ ,” Zim’s eyes narrowed. “And there are needles in your face again. Have you been ignoring the sleep?”

“Yeah, you’ve told me already.” He jerked his head away. He hadn't slept the night before, likely wouldn't sleep tonight either. He knew there were purple bags beneath his eyes akin to bruises - his father had pointed them out, too.

Zim reached down and took up both of his hands. He turned Dib’s hands over, palms up and pointed once to the bandaging on either. “ _Zim_ did not do this,” he murmured, low, “ _who’s_ fault is this?”

Dib blinked. It took an uncomfortable amount of time for his mind to process the words.

“Oh - that’s- those are nothing-” one of Zim’s claws reached and traced an almost delicate line across white bandage. There was a suggestion of pink on the there, where the blood had nearly seeped through. It was likely these needed better first aid - the left might have actually needed stitches - but Dib just shrugged. “An accident… I was- uh- ghoul-... Hunting…”

Zim pressed down - Dib near yelped, yanking his hands away. “Fuck, you asshole that-”

“Stupid, stupid human," Zim peeled away, back into the pilot's seat where he returned to his tablet. "You never use the almighty Irken prowess which you have at your disposal now against those earthoid creatures-”

“You’re at my disposal?” Dib raised a brow, relieved at the new space between them. The point where Zim’s nail had dug in blotched with red. Yes, this one _certainly_ needed stitches. That sucked.

Zim’s antennae twitched. “That is _not-_ ”

“So I can just sic you on stuff now, like a feral dog?” He was grinning.

Zim scowled, glaring at him, “Zim is not your _feral earth dog-_ ”

“I WANNA BE FERAL-” Gir’s voice jolted them both as he ran from wherever he’d been hiding in the base, and began to clamber over the landing dock toward the voot. “I wanna! I WANNA!”

“No! Gir, you are to stay and watch the base!” 

Gir’s face fell. “Awww, but I wanna ‘nother space monkey,”

“No, Gir, no more space monkey’s-”

“But-”

“NO!”

“BUT!” Gir shrieked, then threw himself backward into the dashboard where he rolled, crying and mashing buttons. The voots shield panel flew down, the lights lit up, a confused message appearing across the shield in Irken. _Eject Passengers?_ Zim frantically reached to grab him, but Gir rolled out of grasp as soon as his fingers touched him. Dib slammed a button rejecting the command.

“Just let him come with,” Dib grimaced from the noise, now leaning back out of the way as Zim reached over him.

“If you give him what he _wants_ when he acts like this, then he will _never learn!”_ Zim snatched Gir up, holding him beneath his arms. Gir spasmed frantically, then gave up.

“Zim, I think he’s been acting like this since you _got_ here.”

He shot Dib a narrow look, before he faced Gir, raising his chin. “Give me _one_ reason why I should allow you to join me on this trip,”

“I’s brought you this,” Gir reached into his head and procured in his tiny fist, a handful of- things. Dib leaned over to peer at it with Zim; a marble, a half-chewed stick of gum, a wet ball of lint, a square, Irken memory chip, belonging to _God_ knew what, and in the middle of it all, a chicken tender.

Dib nodded wisely. “Look! He’s got a Bloaty’s BBQ sauce packet in he-”

“Argh, _fine!”_ Zim dropped Gir who bounced off the pilot's chair and clattered onto the floor below, giggling wildly. Grumbling, Zim’s fingers danced over the control panel, and the ship hummed to life. Always, Zim’s ship made Dib think for some reason of War of the Worlds, the towering spindly ships which rose and up and sang before they decimated half of mankind. Of course, Zim’s ship looked nothing like those ships - but it sounded like them.

The loading dock darkened as the houses lights dimmed and the roof split open. It was still raining, and instantly droplets appeared on the glass overhead, rolling down. Dib stared up at the grey-blackness, light pollution bouncing off rain clouds and making them glow as if toxic. The moon was a thin, crescent thing behind a membrane of clouds. Dib sighed. The cruiser would split through that membrane and bring them into the stars, and then out into the strange glow of space. Even a seasoned space traveler such as himself, he felt his heart swell with curiosity and awe. It was a comforting sway in feeling. 

“Enough of that face,” Zim’s voice nearly made him jump. His frown was deep-set. “Space does not need your icky sentimentality,”

“How far away is this planet?” Dib scratched his head to distract from the embarrassed blush across his cheeks.

“Ehh some… Two hours.”

“Oh,” Dib slumped against the seat, sinking melodramatically into the cushion.

“Plenty of time for you stop looking so _filthy_ and sleep,”

He was tired, but… “I wanna watch. And you promised you’d let me fly-”

“Fly _my_ ship while your mind is half-mad with insomnia? _Absolutely not!_ No. You shall sleep-”

“Zim-”

“Zim commands it!”

Dib rolled his eyes, sinking deeper. In truth, it wouldn’t be hard to sleep… 

“ _What_ is the problem, pathetic dirt creature?”

“Oh my God, Zim, how many times-”

“You offend Zim with your lack of interest in my superior company. Are there _better_ ways which you would rather spend this anniversary, Dib-thing?”

Dib was half sitting up now, blinking at him. “Anniversary..? Wh..What _. Aniversary._ Zim?”

His brow was furrowed tight but Zim was scowling, refusing to look his way. He grumbled something of the incompetence of Dib’s ‘memory port’ (whatever that meant), pouring sudden attention back into his tablet.

Dib wondered what work Zim was constantly doing - he was always busy. Dib thought briefly of the time he’d himself spend reading over paranormal notes he knew like the back of his hand if only to curtail silence. 

“You have been acting like a drooling idiot all evening,”

Dib sunk back into the chair and drew his feet onto the dashboard. Zim shot him a glare but said nothing.

“Yeah?”

“Like a prepubescent, emotional smeet. It’s pathetic,”

“Thanks,”

Zim growled. He tapped furiously away. “Whatever your woes are, I assure you they pale in comparison to the misery of others. Do you know captured Vortians are slaves for life? Imagine,”

Dib hummed and tugged his hoodie up, up until it smothered his hair and hid his eyes. He stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Do not cocoon yourself, Dib-stink! I’m asking you questions-”

“You wanted me to sleep, I’m going to sleep-”

Another grumble, then silence. Dib noted the obedience, then squeezed his eyes shut.

A nap, and then space. And black market space, no less! He tried to find the buried child within him. What would twelve year old Dib say to this opportunity? Sixteen year old Dib? His father’s voice, ‘- _you would not remember a thing of these, these- paranormal delusions-’_

“Dib thing,”

“Hm?”

“ _Dib-filth-”_

_“What?”_

Dib sat up, glaring, and instantly jerked back. A PAK leg held something out in his face. It swayed, refusing to focus. “It’s pitiful you seem to not know. Belated hatching anniversary.” Zim’s voice sounded like a dismissal; he didn’t look Dib’s way as the silvery thing glinted in the light of the cruiser's dashboard, tied delicately with a fine, fuschia bow. 

Dib blinked. Zim was leaning toward his tablet as if enraptured in whatever was displayed there.

“What is-”

“ _Take it,_ human, or are you to deny your _hatching_ gift? That is terribly rude, you know-”

Gir was climbing into Dib’s lap now. He smelled faintly like boiled hot dog water tonight.

Dib didn’t ask. “Oh! Me too! ME TOO!” Gir pointed to the gift which Dib recognized now as a _key chain._

He took it gingerly; the PAK leg disappeared. Zim stole a glance his way, once.

The keychain had two loops for keys on it, a USB-looking device and several accessories dangling together. The first was a blue-dyed, cut metal of the Swollen Eyeball symbol, the name _MOTHMAN_ etched in Zim’s sharp, edged handwriting. The next was an Irken symbol, not quite the armada’s, but with it’s bug eyes and stocky antennae. Dib wondered if it were simply supposed to be Zim himself - of course something like this was an acceptable gift from Zim. Dib was surprised now there were no autographed pictures here of him, too. 

“I mades that one,” Gir pointed again. The final accessory was a… Circular, hairy… Thing… Dib wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be. It was baby barf green, the size of maybe half his fist. Four googly eyes stuck to it in random succession, and there was red mark done in what smelled like sharpie between two of the eyes. There were pipe cleaners in there too, making three legs, and then a pink puffball that MIGHT have been a tail... _A self portrait?_

“Uhh- thank you, Gir, it’s, uh-” Gir smiled happily up at him. “I love it.”

To his right, Zim cleared his throat, overloud. 

“Oh, uh- thanks- it’s-”

“There is _more_ Dib-filth. Look,” Zim pointed to the USB thing which dangled lowest. Dib held it up. It was square and looked like a memory chip. It was purple metal, and tiny grooves ran along its side. There was tiny Irken written along the front, but in the middle of it all, Dib could see his own name

“What is it?”

Zim leaned forward, grinning, “It’s a _memory chip_ containing your pathetic personality. Or as tolerable of a version of it as I could create. This one, I promise you, shall not self destruct as the last ones did.” Zim waved a hand. “I imagine you are sick of Tak’s warring personality in the ship you rightfully stole? This shall by pass her own. It is not nearly as _annoying_ as you truly are - I mercifully understood it might kill you if it was. Half-Dib, you might call it. Thank Zim now.”

“Zim, that’s-” _creepy? Weird? Hooow exactly did Zim download his personality? What on earth did_ tolerable _mean?_ “ _So fucking_ _cool_! Tak’s ship is impossible! You know she’s always overriding me at last minute?” He’d repaired it completely; he knew it could fly, could handle deep space flight, but its security system would not allow him control. “I’ve been trying to redownload myself for years, but -..!” But every time he did, it always self-destructed or malfunctioned or- near drove him crazy. 

“Now thanks to Zim all your problems are solved and I no longer half to deal with your insufferable stench in my cruiser.”

Dib grinned. “Thanks, Zim,”

Zim paused, then frowned. His left antennae twitched and twitched, giving him away. “Yes, yes, happy hatching day, Dib-filth, now go to sleep.”

Gir raised his arms and leapt off Dib’s lap. “Yaaay! Happy birthdaaaaay!” He ran off, feet clanking along the metal. Dib reached and carefully placed the key chain in an inside pocket of his backpack. He’d attach his house keys to it, too, and keep Gir’s piece attached as long as he could bear the smell - because now he was learning that it _did_ have a smell, and it smelled like decay. He thought of Zim telling him once that Gir handled vermin control in the base, shuddered, then shoved the thought away. Then, he curled up in the chair, the hoodie tugged close over his eyes, and lay his head on the crook of his arms against the arm of the chair.

 _Tak’s ship…_ His only real ticket to space, _alone,_ and it always backfired. In fact, he hadn’t tried flying it in nearly a year; the last attempt had ended in a broken arm and a few burns. ‘ _If you’re interested in this procedure - it’s entirely up to you-’_

He could leave. He didn’t need to decide. He could just _leave. But what about Zim?_

Zim could come with or.. Chase him or… Dib didn’t know. That wasn’t his decision to make, anyway, and Zim was so stubborn. If he brought it up to the alien, he’d want to make an argument out of it, likely, and Dib was impatient. He knew space well enough by now.

It stung that it was a gift.

Somewhere behind him, Gir was humming, opening one of the storage closets Zim had installed. Dib heard the crash of toys and rubber balls - things stocked primarily for Gir’s entertainment, and he listened, dimly, as darkness swelled behind his eyes, to Zim chastise him in a hushed whisper, “you are going to _wake the Dib up, Gir, silence NOW!”_


	2. drunken places

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, several days ago i tweaked a few little details in the first chapter, so u might consider skimming that one over again. if you just got here then you're good. yes i kno that's a cardinal sin of writing but, whatever.  
> Also, tag updates! There's some drinking in here of the alien-alcohol-variety.
> 
> otherwise, this chapter is pretty long, and im unsure if ppl appreciate that or not - so sorry? i tried to split it but it's better this one stay all together. ah well! enjoy! <3

_ Zim’s base is empty, silent, and dark as if it’s been turned off. Even the glow is dimmed. Dib wanders with a flashlight, knapsack, and a thermal video camera he’d found useful in Zim’s base. His home was so full of electrical activity, the place so warm, all reds and oranges that Zim stood out as a purple, blue mass - his body temperature so frightfully cold.  _

_ Right now, everything is purple, everything is blue. There’s no life here. _

_ Dib clears his throat. The reedy sound echoes through the kitchen. When he tries to get the elevator to respond, nothing happens. His heart is beating faster than he’d like it to, and he ignores it by forcing open the toilet and shining his light down the shaft. It’s dark, winding down, down, who knew how far.  _

_ ‘Zim?’ _

_ His voice travels down, grows smaller and smaller until it disappears. _

_ ‘Zim? You down there? … Gir? Anyone?’ _

_ The blackness swallows up the sound like it’s been waiting for him.  _

_ Dib wasn’t quite claustrophobic - he’d been in tight caves before, searching for vampire bats - but even so. He doesn’t welcome the idea of squeezing himself down there and shimmying until he reached one of the bases first rooms - a length of space he knew to be thirty feet. And then what? Would he just shimmy back up? It was so stupid that Zim didn’t have a power panel outside, or in an easily accessible place. Of course, it’s miles down into his fucking base. _

_ Dib put the flashlight in his mouth, slung his backpack over his shoulder. As he climbs carefully down into the stupid toilets tunnel, a hundred questions kicked up in his head like dust motes. He was angry - if Zim had left, Dib was gonna kick the shit out of him.  _

_ If Zim had left, then… Then  _ what?  _ What did the last eight years mean? Their truce? The fights?  _

_ If Zim’s left-  _

_ It sorta makes him want to choke and so Dib forces the thoughts out and theorizes other places. Let’s see. Zim had left Earth for several days at a time before. Twice when they were in elementary skool - but both times, Gir had remained, and the base had operated as usual. In fact, every time Zim had left Earth for more than one day, Dib had known what he was up to. There was the Mars attack, then another time in hi-skool, trying to use Pluto like a massive snowball and hurl it into the Earth (no thanks to Dib, this had not worked out- unfortunately, however, Pluto hadn’t made it). _

_ Other times, other times… Other times Dib had been with him…  _

_ On his eighteenth birthday three years prior, Zim had allowed him to come on a trip to a planet called Blorch - supposedly very recently conquered by the Irkens. _

_ When Dib asks to visit Irk, there’s always fifteen reasons not to. The weather, the air traffic, a particular plan of his is too vital right now, etcetera. Zim is always strangely curt and when Dib pushes, curtness turns to anger. This isn’t quite strange, because it’s Zim, but it’s also - well. Strange.  _

_ Zim calls his base home. Irk is simply Irk. He never refers to it as home anymore… So where would he go? _

_ All those stolen glances up at the sky. Has Zim ever talked about being homesick? _

_ Back to shimmying down into Zim’s base as if he’s in elementary skool again and his whole life depends on it. His thoughts are trying to formulate some reasonable answer as to where Zim could be, when one of his hands slips. He moves frantically to catch himself, but already gravity is tugging, and he’s falling- _

  
  


\----

  
  


When Dib jolted awake, there was a mass of shifting black across the windshield like a gaping maw. His heart hammered; the darkness had depth, and three seconds his vision sharpened and he recognized smoke or thick clouds. Beside him, a clicking snicker.

“How is it that your own body torments you so?”

“What?” His breath was still coming fast. Beside him, Zim was grinning, eyes half-lidded. He was relaxed into the pilot's seat, boots up in a position against the dashboard mimicking Dib’s own slouch. Zim turned from Dib to look out the windshield again.

“We’ll be landing shortly. I said, how is it that your own mind sends you visions of  _ terror  _ when you are so vulnerable?”

Dib swallowed. The world was settling back together again. “Has it been two hours?”

“Yes,”

He scrubbed at his face, narrowing his eyes between his fingers. His cheeks were heating up. “What did I-”

Gir popped up at the arm of his chair. There was a wet spot, where he’d drooled, just beside his arm. “You were cryyyyiin’ and screeeamin’ annnnd-”

“There’s no way-”

Zim laughed, “Relax, Dib-human, it was only your  _ vitals  _ which tipped Zim off,” he then presented a gloved hand in the direction of the windshield. “Behold.  _ Meekleroth _ ,”

The planet before them was shrouded halfway in black, smoke-like clouds. They were thick, but in glimpses between breaths, the green glow of the planet below bloomed forth. Purple and blue lightning sparked in the air; even in the ship, Dib could feel his hair standing on end. The air was charged with a terrible  _ buzzing.  _ Zim was grinning still, leaning forward.

“It looks  _ vicious, _ ” Dib murmured.

“Far more exciting than Earth, no?”

“At least Earth is habitable,”

“Perhaps to  _ you _ , Dib-filth-”

“ _ This  _ shit is habitable to you?” There seemed to be no nearby sun, and if there was, it wouldn’t have mattered; the clouds were so thick not a bit of outside light seemed to be pouring in. In fact, Meekleroth’s natural light appeared to be the glowing green clouds beneath it’s seemingly floating landmasses. If they were web-like in the images he’d seen earlier, they were downright evil-looking now. The green below, the poison-dart frog orange of the natural-appearing landmasses which rose out of  _ that _ . Then, built haphazardly, webbings of black bridges, and stacked, oily black skyscrapers without any windows jutted up towards the storm overhead.

“It’s better than Earth,” Zim muttered.

Despite his near-repulsion, Dib leaned forward for a better look. A black market planet - who  _ knew  _ what he might find there? Weapons for Tak’s ship, material for his own technology - maybe there were live markets..?! Oh, the specimens he might find! There were shelves in his bedroom he might stack with jars of intergalactic insects and whatever Meekleroth had to offer… His excitement was finally building now that the planet was before him. Everything his father had told him fizzled to a low hum in the back of his mind. 

“Don’t  _ breathe  _ on my windshield, human-”

“How long are we staying?” He could see Zim was excited, too. He’d since sat up, was holding his shoulders a little too stiffly, and his eyes were trained on the planet ahead. He was just trying to appear cool about it.

“As long as we need to,”

“You don’t think your uniform stands out a little too much?”

His antennae twitched, once. “ _ Why  _ should that matter to Zim?”

Dib rolled his eyes. “Well, you said- you said you sold Irken weapons… I don’t know, Irk rules the galaxy doesn’t it, wouldn’t a planet like this be on the lookout for, you know - uh- …  _ Irkens?  _ I can’t help but think the empire would wanna stamp out places like this, _ ” _

Zim stared at him like he’d grown three new arms. “There comes a time, _feeble dirt creature,_ when a force is so great, so _maddening_ in its power, that it matters not what it does or does not do.” he waved dismissively toward the planet, “Irk could careless for filthy outposts such as this. Plenty of Invaders use it to beef up their own arsenal against other planets. And I will blend better than _you,_ anyway, human.”

Dib shrugged. Glanced once at the fuschia pink of his tunic, the black leggings. A memory sprung to mind, deep within Zim’s silent, darkened base; the sweet, almost acrid smell of Irken blood. 

“ _ What  _ are you  _ staring at?”  _ Zim was glaring at him, gripping his tablet close to his chest, almost flustered.

Dib looked quickly away, “Uh - I don’t know. I almost didn’t notice you’d quit wearing that. What made you sto-”

“I’ve no idea what you could even be referring to,” Zim said suddenly. “Do you understand the precision necessary for landing, Dib-human?” When Dib opened his mouth, annoyed, Zim continued, “Of course not! Now silence and no more interruptions,”

Sensing an argument, Dib restrained himself - just barely - and slumped back into the co-pilots seat.

Zim landed the ship on a piece of land that jutted out alone; there was room for one ship. In fact, each block of land which rose up from the toxic gas below, circling the city had room for one, small ship, and a metal, swaying bridge attached each to the mass of buildings and other bridges and tunnels that was one of the main landmasses of Meekleroth. The dust here was orange, like neon paint. Everything about this planet  _ screamed  _ toxic. Deadly. Unsafe for humans - or anything living. 

“Does Meekleroth have any native species?” Dib asked as the ship powered down.

“Once. It’s own environment changed that. Now, Gir!” A suspicious silence followed. Zim’s antennae lowered against his skull in irritation. “That wretched-  _ GIR!” _ Gir fell from above, landing face-first between them. Zim looked up at the ventilator shaft overhead, it’s cover swung open. “Were you in the-”

“There’s babies in there!” Gir held up a mass of dust and lint formed into a wet, sticky mess, “I named this one Mary cause it looks just like  _ you!”  _ He dropped it into Dib’s hand, who shuddered and tried to unstick it from between his fingers.

Zim grabbed Gir by the face, forcing him to face him. “My diabolical servant,”

Gir giggled, repeated the word  _ diabolical. _

“Listen to Zim. You are to guard the cruiser, let  _ NO ONE  _ in.  _ ANNIHILATE  _ any unidentified creature who tries to enter! Understand?”

“YES SIR!” Gir saluted, flashing red, before he climbed over the dashboard and pressed his face into the glass, staring intensely out at their surroundings. 

“Where are we going first?” Dib asked, delicately slinging the wet-lint mess onto the floor beside his chair.

“A marketplace. But you must be briefed on this planet first, so come,” Zim rose suddenly and whirled toward the door. Dib followed after him.

When his voot cruiser was rebuilt, Zim changed it drastically. He claimed it was for better movement and room for Gir to run around in the case of, particularly long journeys. Dib had other ideas; Zim did have a slight affinity for human sci-fi films. He was certain it had been redesigned after all the television he watched.

Purple light illuminated the floor of the hallway which connected the bridge to everywhere else. There were several new rooms and narrow ventilation shafts above and below. There was the bridge - where they’d come from, the ship’s primary controls, windshield, everything. Next, a medical and equipment room, connected to the bridge by a two-way hallway. The final room was the engine room, a place where the ship's innermost workings remained. The narrow vents above and beneath the ship carried oxygen and connected everything. Always the place hummed softly, like Zim’s base had. The Computer could be connected and spoken to directly onto the shift as well. 

_ Home sweet home,  _ Dib thought.

The equipment room was the largest room in the ship, standing at least fifteen meters in length, ten in width, and eight meters in height. There was, to the far end of the room, three medical bays in the case of an emergency. Each had been fitted to accommodate both of their physiology. There was a television here, a bin of Gir’s toys, Irken video games (that were impossible to play and weirdly ugly) and a sparsely stocked bookshelf he shared with Zim. There plenty of weapons, provisions for deep space travel, and even  _ stasis bays  _ if they were to travel somewhere Zim’s voot could not handle quickly. Dib shuddered at the thought of having to use one, indeed at the very idea that such  _ depth  _ to space existed in the first place.

Zim stood before two narrow doors and threw them open. Dib could hear the rumbling thunder of the planet outside. Harsh wind was whipping at the ship. It swayed beneath his feet, despite the ships built in anchors gripping the planet under them.

“Meekleroth is a criminal planet, as you’ve already been told. The aliens who come here come to take part in all things illegal. Assassinations are planned here. Coup d'etat’s. Assassinations of two Tallest’s in the past have been associated with crime rings on this planet. Many kill for sport - or food. There is no government here, no “ _ police”.  _ Every alien for itself.” Reaching into the closet as he spoke, Zim procured various weapons; lazer guns, knives, small explosives, which he stocked his PAK and himself with. He turned and provided several to Dib, who took them carefully. He felt static on his skin; all this danger, like when they were kids. Even his paranormal hunting nowadays had almost become dull. There hadn’t been any major activity in the woods near his apartment (likely everything there knew he was onto them and they’d fled), and he and Zim didn’t exactly try to kill each other like they used to anymore. 

When Zim handed him a particularly frightening-looking knife, complete with a hook on the end, Dib grinned.

“Have you ever had to fight anything here?”

“Of course I have,” Zim said easily. 

“To the death?” Zim nodded.“What happened?”

“Zim won. Now,” His PAK legs raised him up to eye level. Both hands reached out and for an instant, Dib froze. Zim grabbed Dib’s hood, tugged it up to cover his head, drawing him an inch closer. “You must not leave my side, understand?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” 

Zim glared, then reached and tugged on a black ear piercing. Dib winced.“What is with that stupid look?”

He swatted Zim away. “I’ve been on other planets before, you know-”

“This is different,” Zim said stiffly. “Meekleroth is crawling with criminals. You wouldn’t believe the trades which take place here, the appetites of some. They will be able to  _ smell  _ how delicious you are. I thought I would treat you and so-”

Dib almost startled. “This is a treat?”

Zim’s eyes widened, sputtering mid-sentence as he released Dib. “Wh- n-no, of course not-”

“Is this the rest of my birthday gift-”

“A-absolutely not! Shut up! It was mere coincidence, human!” Purple blush was glowing across his cheeks and over the slight bump of a bone in the middle of his face where a nose might usually be. “You are distracting Zim on your briefing! Do you want to die?”

Dib started to laugh, “Well-”

“Shut up! You are to wear this at all times,” a PAK leg extended to reveal a face mask. It was oily black, patterned with octagonal shapes. Two filtering like apparatuses appeared at the front - like a gas mask, for the mouth and nose only. “The air here is toxic,”

“What about you?” The mask was surprisingly light, and the inside had comfortable, squishy padding within it for comfortable wearing. Again, with the Swollen Eyeball sigil stamped into the side in fine, black chrome.  _ Another gift?  _ His face was heating up. 

“Ha, do not worry about  _ Zim.  _ My PAK can filter out most pollution and sustain me for weeks on end. Get on my level, Dib-beast,”

Finally from the closet, Zim procured a long, almost silky looking thin shroud. It was a deep, syrupy purple. He threw it around himself, and it fell like a cloak over his shoulders, draping down just past his knees. 

As Zim led them to the bridge where the windshield would open and they might step out, he paused. “Perhaps… Zim  _ has _ brought you here as a, ehh- second... hatching gift,”

Dib was fitting the mask on. “Oh yeah?”

“Well, you are always - complaining about space! Here you are, dirt-creature!” Zim pulled the hood up, until it cast his face in shadow. He was grinning crookedly. “Is it as beautiful as you always imagined?”

The windshield opened when Zim slammed a button with his fist. Gir was bouncing up and down on one of the pilot's seats, waving at them. 

“I never thought space would be beautiful,” he said, which was the truth. But it was also true that plenty of beauty existed to be seen. It was beyond description or comprehension and that detail alone made his chest swell.

Other times, it terrified him.

“Nonsense. You simply have not looked in the right places,”

Dib adjusted the strap and tightened the mask just right. When he inhaled, the mask seemed to activate, and the octagonal shapes along its sides glowed a dark blue. Zim was apparently certain this was Dib’s favorite color - technically, he was right. The air within it never grew stale or hot. When Dib followed Zim out of the voot and onto the landing dock, he flinched as a puff of orange dust floated up into the air - but nothing changed. No sharp acrid taste of poison on his tongue, no burning lungs. He relaxed his shoulders.

Zim had brought a map, LED and illuminated from a light within his PAK. He gave a physical one to Dib. “This is not a  _ key  _ by which you are to leave Zim’s side, understand?”

Dib snatched it from him. “God, I get it,”

“You could not possibly ‘ _get-it’._ Now!” He pointed ahead, “We shall shop!”

The orange landmass they had landed on was jaggedly circular as if it had been cut with a hacksaw. It swayed beneath Dib’s feet in slow, lazy motions as if it were balancing on sticks. The ship creaked behind them, and the wind here whipped his jacket to and fro. Zim seemed unperturbed, marching ahead toward the bridge, rambling about a particular food vendor he liked. 

If the landmass he stood on was somewhat precarious, the bridge was a swing set. Dib froze.

“- the food is always  _ live  _ which makes it far better- well, except for the shrieking-” Zim paused, turned quickly. “SLOW! Speed it up, Dib-thing,” 

Dib clutched the handrails. When he looked over the side, he saw green, green, and then a wavering blackness.  _ How high up is this..!?  _

“Jesus Zim, how the hell can you move that fast with - with fucking  _ NOTHING  _ under you!”

“Zim has PAK legs,” Zim said far too innocently as if Dib didn’t already know. “Now hurry up,”

The bridge was solid in appearance, with high handrails made of the very same material which he put one boot on. The material stretched, just slightly. Dib yanked himself backward, pointed at it. “That is evil, Zim, I’m not-”

“It is a  _ bridge,  _ you absolute  _ primate-” _

“I-I see- what it is, but-” 

“ _ But _ ?”

“It’s  _ swaying!” _

“Don’t tell Zim  _ you,  _ of all things, are  _ afraid  _ of a meager  _ bridge _ ?”

He tried again but the way the material seemed to sink with his weight made his heart leap into his mouth. “ _ Why- wh-why-  _ why is it  _ squishy _ , Zim?”

Zim’s eyes flattened to a deadpan. “Would you rather it be stiff as  _ glass _ , human? Then perhaps, the slightest  _ breeze  _ shall shatter the whole thing and plummet your pathetic, stinking body into an endless, toxic abyss. Would you prefer that?” Zim was drawing closer. Dib gripped the handrail.

“Zim-”

Zim lunged suddenly forward and caught his wrist. Dib dug his heels into the dirt, desperately tugging back, but deceptively strong, Zim yanked him forward.“- or would you prefer something like ice? A crack forming far on the other side… If displace your mass enough, you  _ might  _ make it-”

He was dragged onto the bridge, boots sinking into the bridge’s material just enough to make him stumble. “Zim, STOP STOP- _ STOpstopSTOP-” _

Zim pulled him haltingly along, speaking low, “Do you  _ know  _ what the toxic gas of Meekleroth does to most organic life forms? As I said it’s environment destroyed all of its native life… In small doses,” he dragged Dib closer, “it burns the internal organs, attaching itself to cells so that in your panic, as your blood quickens, it is circulated faster through you. It’s a fascinating chemical…. It is halfway  _ alive,  _ you know - it eats at the walls of your disgusting tissue, even the bone until it makes it to the other side... But perhaps you’ve plunged into it? Then it begins from the outside in, and it isn’t any quicker - do you know what happens to your skin tissue? Your fingernails?  _ Your eyes?”  _ Zim drew Dib close enough to nearly knock into the mask. His eyes were sharp… “... -or perhaps this bridge is made of a superior, synthetic material of the onyx family which might bend and morphs itself to its environment pressure to sustain its life,” He yanked Dib onto the orange dust of the other side. Behind him, buildings rose up, more bridges swayed, and the dust was stamped into a sort of black soot where foot traffic beat the color out of it. “See? You survive to live another miserable day,” Zim patted his shoulder.

Dib’s breath was coming fast. “If you had fucked that up, I would’ve died,”

“Zim would’ve caught you,” He shrugged, turning on his heel to march toward the city. 

There were no usual Irken outposts here, a sight Dib had come to recognize in his space travel with Zim; Irken guards would keep an eye on the flow of traffic, occasionally asking for IDs or papers from the crowds. Under a black archway and a bridge, they were instantly sheltered from the winds, swallowed by looming, unsteady buildings all around. Dib wondered if a storm might not ever come which would fling the buildings into each other, bringing the city to rubble. 

The deeper into the city they went, the thicker the crowds became. If there was a particular population drawn here, Dib couldn’t find the pattern. Bodies of various life forms pressed together in the streets. Dib was jostled, pushed, and shoved, but he kept on his feet and worked up a sweat to avoid falling. He kept looking up and around; at the towering, spindling, swaying buildings which leaned over the crowd and knocked almost politely into each other above- or at the figures around him. He was relieved to see other breathing apparatus’ being used, each different in its form but all with the same function. The volume almost hurt; it muffled the thunder overhead and made whispering impossible. Everyone kept their head down - eye contact, like with most predators, was rude.

Still, it was impossible not to ogle. “This is the busiest place you’ve brought us,”

Zim sniffed. “Yes. Disgusting, isn’t it?”

Dib supposed it sort of was. They passed alleyways which were winding and stair-like. These places were clogged with trash, tilted over apartments, and machinery. He was pretty certain he’d seen two skinny, mantis-looking aliens fucking in one of them, but then again, he couldn’t be sure.

On either side of them were stalls and vendors. Various smells wafted into the air; some smelled undeniably like cooking meat. Others were almost fishy, and another was like burnt styrofoam. It was complete overstimulation; the wares, food, weapons… Dib saw a vendor stocked immensely with massive weapons stamped with the Irken symbol. Of course, the empire was an ever-constant shadow. It touched everything. Dib glanced at Zim once; he was winding his way through the crowd just fine. He kept his eyes ahead, chin raised proudly, his mouth twitched into a near scowl. When it benefitted him, being an Invader was something Zim could feign pride in

_ Did it ever benefit him? _

The uniform - that was really bothering Dib tonight...

  
  


_ … He isn’t falling for long. In his thinking, Dib’s made it far enough to breach the first level to Zim’s base. He ducks down out of the elevator shaft and shines a beam of hazy yellow light outward. The lights falls over and under machinery, wires, screens. Control panels, weapons, tables, vats of still, unmoving liquid. He counts to twenty, then thirty, then sixty when still nothing has changed and gives up at one hundred and twenty. Zim isn’t that patient.  _

_ Dib goes forward. His boots click across the tile, and it echoes against the ceiling and flings itself back at him. There is a sense of terrible pressure on his eardrums. Dib considers the depth - he’s still less than a half-mile beneath the earth’s surface. He’s never felt this tension before. _

_ He goes forward, clutching his flashlight tighter than he woud like to give attention to.  _

_ Something makes him pause. He holds his breath. The whole base might be roaring with silence. _

_ Silent. Silence. _

_ That’s the pressure - absolute, utter silence. _

_ Zim might as well be dea- _

  
  


When Zim glanced his way, Dib looked straight ahead. If he brought it up, he knew it’d turn into a fight, and so he crammed the thought away and drew his attention to a particular vendor ahead. He grabbed Zim by the forearm making him stumble, once. This vendor was selling jars which contained some small, sea-roach-like creature. Two dozen, tiny, thread-thin tendrils spasmed from long, slender, stick-bug-looking bodies. The tendrils glowed various colors - some were magenta, some were yellow. Some were bright, ocean blue. Dib pointed.

“What is it?”

Zim might’ve looked as if he were rolling his eyes. “They’re  _ clearly azathogs.” _

“What do they do?”

“They glow,” Zim said simply.

“That’s it?”

“They’re simple creatures which the likes of you could never understand,” Zim lifted one jar and examined its contents almost amiably. The light - this one a soft red - shone faintly on his skin. “They’re from a planet called  _ Azarog.  _ It isn’t far away… Their sea is made of jelly,” 

“Get me one.”

The softness in Zim’s face instantly hardened - perhaps only because he realized Dib was paying attention. “This  _ garbage?” _

“I recall you using the words,  _ if there is something the Dib wants Zim shall- _ ”

Zim scowled, “Fine, if this is what you want to  _ WASTE  _ your time with,” head lowered, a PAK leg peaked from beneath his shroud and procured a tablet. It wasn’t quite strange that in space, transactions were not done with physical money, but a digital coin (once Dib called it “alien bit-coin” and Zim kicked him in the shin). Dib chose the blue one because of course he did, wondering about the ethics of purchasing such a pretty alien thing just to dissect it later. Zim kept the red one. 

“I thought that was garbage?”

Zim scowled up at him. “Zim shall feed it to you if you do not  _ shut up.” _

After fifteen minutes, Dib was certain he’d gotten Zim to spend some human equivalent of $600. There was, in his backpack now, a jar of the strange, glowing-tendril alien, a piece of slim, thin-as-paper machinery which looked like a circuit board that Zim claimed was from a crashed, royal Vortian ship (a very technologically advanced species, Dib understood), a tablet similar to Zim’s own ( _ “If you wanted one so badly, you could’ve swallowed your inferior ego and asked your merciful overlord to make you one, _ ”), and finally, from a vendor that smelled  _ particularly delicious  _ and strange, alien food! It looked a lot like a sausage link if sausage links were purple and covered in spikes. Dib was certain it would kill him if he ate it.

“Those are disgusting,” Zim muttered as they walked.

“I think Gaz might like it. She likes food,”

“Do  _ not  _ open it in the voot. It will stink up the whole place…” and then, a moment later, peering over at it again, “... Save some for Gir. He’ll scream if we don’t bring anything back for him.”

Dib didn’t even notice that Zim wasn’t shopping for the material he’d claimed to have come here for; the only thing which caught his attention was a vendor who looked like a hammerhead shark, displaying a random assortment of intergalactic-Swiss army knives. Zim’s eyes lit up and he cooed over the selection while Dib waited impatiently at the opening of a bridge which hung overhead.

In the gloom, Dib stared up at the workings of the bridge; it seemed to be made of a million threads of metal, like the wires that held up the Golden Gate Bridge. These threads glowed, occasionally seemed to  _ breathe. _ Perhaps they were electrical? Did they feed the city power?  _ Were they organic? _

A sound somewhere behind him caught his attention when he recognized the language, and Dib turned. An Irken - the first he’d seen since they’d arrived, to his surprise. This Irken was quite large, far taller than Zim and very round. His eyes were amber colored and his clothes were black and orange; no trace of the Empire uniform. He had with him multiple cages with electrified wiring all around. He was shouting in Irken, and Dib could, just barely over the din, catch brief phrases. “ _ Excellent for slave work- under any environmental conditions - obedient to a fault-”  _ as he spoke, he bent over to reach into one of his cages- and lifted up by it’s ankle, a tiny, squirming lime-green Irken smeet.

“Hey, wait-” He moved in the Irken’s direction. The shadow of the bridge overhead made his eyes glow. His PAK was the same honey-amber color - as seemed to be the trend with Irkens. Unceremoniously, the Irken dropped the smeet back where he’d snagged it from. Even over the perpetual hum of the crowd, Dib could hear it squalling. “Those were- hey, Zim, that guy-”

Dib jolted, knocked suddenly into a figure with blue skin. A fist caught his shirt and jerked him toward it. His head spun as he was yanked up, almost off the ground, and he was brought nearly nose to nose with an alien almost a foot taller than him. Seven yellow eyes were set into it’s skin - it had no pupils. It’s mouth was terribly wide, and it said something in a harsh, spitting tongue that might have had the lilt of a question in it. One hand reached for his pocket, itching for the knife with the hooked end- but the creature grabbed his wrist.  _ All that time spent fighting Zim, and you’re dispatched  _ this  _ fast- _

Suddenly, a new hand was on his right shoulder. Zim appeared beside him, lifted on his PAK legs to meet their height. He spoke to the creature -  _ in it’s own language -  _ in a dark, even tone. Then, Dib was being yanked backward again out of the other alien’s grasp, nearly crashing onto the ground. One of Zim’s hands tugged on his own as he pulled him away.

(On Prom night, they sat together on the bleachers long after skool had closed up, side by side. Dib didn’t remember what they talked about, but he did remember how close their fingers were. Zim’s pinky over Dib’s - his skin was cool beneath glittering gloves.)

“You make me think I was mistaken in bringing you here,” Zim scowled. 

“That guy was selling Irken babies!” He tried to crane his neck to find the Iken but the crowd had swelled enough that he’d disappeared.

“Yes, so?”

Dib felt a little dizzy. He faced ahead again. His eyes were overwhelmed by all the spectacle, and he was trying to parse in his head the syllables of the language the blue alien had spoken. He pinched the bridge of his nose and kept walking, head down. He felt suddenly stupid. “Is that not fucked up to you?”

“They’re likely defective,” Zim said quietly, glancing at him. “ _ What _ ? Don’t tell Zim you wish to adopt an Irken smeet? I promise you there will be thousands more where those suffer,”

Dib grimaced. That didn’t make him feel much better at all. “It just seems sad,”

“Plenty is sad in the universe, Dib-creature. Get used to it.”

Beside him, Zim’s hand still clutched his own. He redirected his attention to Zim’s stupid purple cowl - and the way he ducked, hardly glancing up at strangers as if he were hiding his face.

“What happened to blending in better than me?” Dib murmured, pitching slightly to the right so that his voice might carry.

“Zim is blending in just fine,”

“Huh.” Dib struggled to keep up with him. They ducked beneath a particularly stout bridge - of course, Zim didn’t have to adjust his height at all. “Hey, what did you tell that guy?”

Zim squinted one eye at him, then seemed to understand. “That you are my slave. It’s a terribly offensive thing, to kill an Irken’s slave. It’s punishable by law-”

Dib bristled. “I thought you said-”

“Irkens  _ are  _ the law, Dib-filth,” Zim said, very seriously. Dib blinked once at him, mouth half-open before Zim’s flashed him his most shit-eating grin, and Dib lightly punched his shoulder. “But truly. As I said, every alien for itself here. No one will help you in a fight, so you must choose wisely,” Zim was still grinning, but it was genuine, full of ego. “Perhaps the Dib could… Wait, no, that would- but there  _ are _ aliens more to your caliber, and you’ve proven yourself worthy enough... perhaps- …”

Zim’s voice faded as Dib slowed his gait. There was a building, three stories up and led into by a bridge, with dozens of glittering signs at it’s front. An LED sign above its doorway, which was guarded by a large, broad alien with a robotic bottom half, flashed an elaborate neon cup - it looked a bit like a scotch glass. The bridge to get to it began at an alleyway just ahead, dark and bordered with filth.

Zim appeared at his side. “ _ What  _ have I instructed you about leaving my side?” He snarled. “ _ Why  _ have you stopped?”

“What’s that?”

Zim squinted. “A bar. Let’s go-”

“I want a drink,”

Zim laughed, suddenly. “You would die, instantly, from anything they served there. And technically,” at this, Zim leaned forward, grinning, “you are, how do you say-  _ under the age?” _

“I’m twenty-two,”

“There is no sun here to prove that-”

“Then everyone here is  _ under the age,”  _ he mimicked Zim’s stupid, nasally voice, but the Irken just laughed harder. He looked once at the bar’s entrance, then at Dib, and then around them. The smile was fading quickly. He was casting furtive glances, biting his bottom lip before he muttered something and grabbed Dib’s sleeve and marched him toward the alleyway.

Zim was picking his way via PAK legs. Dib was no priss, but he  _ did  _ like his boots, black and polished when he felt like it, adding half an inch to his already impressive height, and finally - $80 (that was  _ two  _ checks out the window plus one week spent eating only rice) - so he did well to step over puddles and round strange, fleshy masses that  _ might  _ have just been other aliens. Water, mold, mildew, and a glowing, lime green substance that might be like moss clung to most surfaces. It seemed it rained often, as the clouds and thunderstorm overhead could attest to

Dib slipped twice trying to keep up. Zim never slowed. They winded up the bridge, past lounging aliens who glared and spat. 

Dib didn’t know what all the fuss about crime pins and coup-de-whatever’s was about - this was just like being downtown past midnight. 

Zim was still clutching Dib’s sleeve still as he tugged him passed the bouncer who either didn’t check for ID’s or scanned them in some other way when they passed through (underage drinking might be the least of this planet’s problems). He dragged him through a narrow, sweating hallway; the walls here glowed with vivid neon graffiti. Zim’s PAK made the space magenta, mixing with the green and yellow and blue paint. Dib was staring up and around him in half awe- sure it was sorta gross here. Figures were pushing past them, coming and going in either direction, but Zim paid them no mind. Ahead, a pulsing alien beat was growing louder.

“Here you are, human,” Zim mumbled beside him. 

The music assaulted him first, and then the lights and the din of patrons. It was hardly different than the streets outside in terms of body mass; Zim was scowling, head held low. 

It was somehow… Relieving that the place stank as a human club might. Dib was grinning - he  _ hated  _ places like this on earth, but the completely indescribable din of grinding music and the strange bridges which existed  _ within the buildings,  _ too, the epileptic lights, the fact that there was a thin carpet of  _ slime  _ all over the floor-

Actually, that part was pretty disgusting. Zim was still on PAK legs, held nearly to Dib’s eye level, mouth curled in distaste. But other than that, it was sorta fascinating. Sorta fun.

The ceiling seemed impossibly high - in fact, there was no real ceiling until the very top which disappeared into blackness way above - instead, just swirling, spinning levels and railing which peered down, and were equally crowded. The place was far larger than Dib had been expecting. The bridges and buildings outside winded so strangely, it was difficult to tell when one began and another ended.

Dib tilted to the side, dizzy and Zim straightened him. “Does this debauchery please you, Dib-filth?” He had to shout, louder than usual, over the din.

“I think so,” just to see Zim’s scowl deepen. He reached behind his head, dropping the hood and loosening the mask so that it hanged around his neck. 

“Well, you are here, now can we-” Dib spotted a length of tables across the throbbing crowd and began toward it. Zim hissed and followed. “What are you doing!”

“I said I wanted a drink-” 

“I  _ told you  _ this-” 

But Dib was climbing into a tall seat with a strange, spiked back (perhaps to discourage sitting for a long time? Wasn't that bad for business? whatever,) and peering forward in search of a bartender. Zim groaned and slid into the seat directly beside him.

“Hey, call the bartender,”

A second groan, louder as Zim leaned dramatically forward and hid his face in his hands. “Sweet Irk, you make me sick. You must  _ choose  _ your drink first, Dib-creature,” and he pressed one long index finger to the counter Dib was leaning on. It lit up a menu-sized rectangle of the counter, displaying a glittering, busy LED screen that flickered when the music was particularly loud. Zim chewed his tongue as Dib leaned to watch him scroll through seemingly hundreds of drinks written in various scripts. He recognized several Vortian words, and plenty of Irken - which seemed to be comparable to English on Earth because he saw it  _ everywhere.  _

Zim flicked through it before he paused. “Ooh. Alright. Fine, if you  _ insist  _ on poisoning yourself, I cannot stop you,”

“Pick something good,”

“Anything I choose  _ is _ good _ , _ ” Zim snapped. Dib noted that Zim ordered not one but two of whatever purple-colored drink he’d decided on.

The screen disappeared and Zim put his cheek in his hand, leaning forward. “This is hardly different from the filth of a human bar,”

“How would you know?”

Zim’s antennae perked up almost comically before he scowled. “None of your business! Zim’s research extends far beyond your knowledge, this is something you should’ve known for  _ years now,  _ human,”

Dib was grinning. “I always stuck you for a homebody,”

“I’ve no idea what that means,” Zim muttered, drumming his fingers on the counter.

“You know, this is fun,”

Another perk of antennae. Zim sunk down just a bit, as if embarrassed, shoulders drawing up, before he said quietly, “Good.”

The bartender (a yellow, slug looking alien) placed before them two exquisitely and exotically made drinks. Both were identical; a long, steely chrome cup, slender like a champagne glass, and frosted (also on the rocks!). Three different straws in three different complicated shapes sprouted from it. Peering in, Dib saw the liquid was as purple as a magic marker. Three little orb-y looking beads floated around.

Dib reached in and plucked one out. Zim stuck out his tongue in disgust. “What are you  _ doing _ ?”

“What  _ is  _ this?” He squeezed and it popped and he jolted back in horror. Zim laughed.

“It is obviously a-” he said some alien word that Dib couldn’t even begin to sound out, “- candy, you imbecile. If you won’t eat them, Zim shall!” He reached for Dib’s cup, who held it high out of reach. 

“No, it’s mine!”

“Then make use of it!”

Dib brought the drink back down to stare at it. He was  _ afraid,  _ but - “What if my body reacts to it badly? Like an allergic reaction, or -” 

“ _ You  _ wanted to come here, human,”

“Do you have like, some sort of epi-pen or-”

“Just drink it,” Zim was leaning forward, grinning, his eyes bright with mischief. Since they’d arrived, he’d been so tense - this was a welcome change, enough to smote the brief image of Dib, choking to death on some alien-vodka.

Not to mention, Zim’s excitement was infectious. Dib leaned toward him. “On three?”

“ _ Yess-” _

They counted, and for once, Zim didn’t cheat - or knock the cup into his face. 

The taste was instantly chemical and strange and  _ almost  _ sweet - Dib coughed and gagged.

“ _ JE-SUS-”  _ Dib choked, clapping a hand over his mouth. Zim cackled. 

“Prepare for _imminent_ _death_ , Dib-thing,”

“That tastes like fucking Windex,” if it maybe was overmixed with what  _ tasted like  _ pineapple and chemical-maraschino cherries. Zim had thrown the entire thing back in a quick, practiced shot. His tongue shot out to wrap around the fruity-looking orbs at the bottom of the drink before he popped them in his mouth. It occurred to Dib, very suddenly, that he had never seen Zim inebriated in any way shape or form.

“Does your PAK just filter that out?”

“Not if I can help it,” Reptilian fast, Zim was already ordering another round.

The drink was working faster than anything he’d had on earth - heat was spreading throughout his limbs. “What’s the drink limit here?”

Zim laughed, “There is no such thing, foolish earth-monkey, patrons are free to ruin themselves as much as they like,” he was leaning forward, grinning, as a second set of drinks was placed before them. “Ehh, however, the Dib should have no more after this.”

Dib frowned, “You can’t cut me off-”

“Yes I can,” he shoved the drink into Dib’s hands. “Now count to three with Zim,”

Wordlessly, Dib understood why two might be enough. His face was hot, he was dizzy, everything was a little fuzzy around the edges; he didn’t notice Zim almost nervously order a third, single drink, throw it down, before he began to restlessly drum his fingers on the table.

Dib’s mind wandered toward his father again and he grimaced. He couldn’t talk about this here, not when a strange, warm buzzing was floating around his head, when he felt so willing to talk about anything at all, regardless of the repercussions. He forced his attention to redirect to Zim.

Zim had begun to ramble about something stupid and ego-related (his words weren’t slurred, the only indication he’d drank at all being the purple tint in his cheeks, and Dib found that a shame). He gestured frequently, perhaps more so than he usually did, maybe another indication. Dib didn’t catch the wary side glances. The brief silences. Twitching antennae.

Then suddenly, Zim was quiet for a long moment before he leaned forward and hissed, “Are you  _ dying  _ or just  _ stupid _ ?”

“What?”

“You are staring at me,”

If it weren’t for the drink, Dib would be embarrassed that he was cataloging this all away somewhere deep within him. That he was appreciating the way Zim’s eyes clashed with his skin then reconnected with the fuchsia of his uniform. That with the space between himself and Earth right now - indeed, the space even Zim’s base created - was like a bubble.

His mind slipped and settled on something. “You’re a distraction,”

Zim immediately stared at him. “Zim is a  _ what _ ?”

“You’re a very good distraction,” Dib shrugged, smiling. “I don’t know. You’re just - you’re - like, a real… Really good distraction from bad shit….But better than TV, I guess, because uh- you’re real-”

“Of course I'm real,” Zim said stupidly. 

“I was always afraid after-” he gestured vaguely in the direction of Zim’s uniform, who scowled as if offended, “after that  _ time,  _ you know- no, hey, don’t interrupt- shut up - I thought you wouldn’t - I don’t know. You bounce back-”

Zim narrowed his eyes, but it lacked much heat. In fact he looked almost… Sad. Quietly, he said, “Zim is resilient.” 

“Of course you are,”

Zim said nothing.

“I guess I mean, this,” Dib leaned toward him until his head bumped Zim’s shoulder, “is fun.”

“You said that already,” Zim muttered.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Whatever,” 

A second later and Zim leaned his head against Dib’s.

Zim was drumming his fingers beside his cup. Dib’s own hand was limp beside his. He stared at the space, about the size of a quarter. “Youre always so tense,” he said, softly.

“Gir ruined the cake,” Zim mumbled.

“There was a cake,”

A pause. “... No-”

Dib tilted his head; his mind felt fuzzy, pink, over sweet. “That’s really sweet of you-”

“Shut up.” 

“You know, for someone with an ego as big as yours, you don’t take compliments well-”

“Don't flatter me- I know how superior I am,”

“Guess you don’t need a reminder then-”

Zim twitched. His fingers paused in their drumming. “... Zim does not forget… But… Perhaps  _ you  _ might… But your compliments are icky! Too sweet!” He stuck out his tongue.

Dib had started to laugh, and he caught just a tiny, imperceptible twitch in Zim’s mouth…. Zim’s hand fell over Dib’s. His gloves were leather - tight, fine black leather which never seemed to crack or flake or peel. The heat of his palm was overbright - and with the sway the drink was giving him, it was distracting.  _ Very  _ distracting, and Dib couldn’t peel his eyes away from it, even though he knew Zim must be staring at him now. Maybe the whole bar was. What was in these drinks? Could he take some home?

When he did look up, there was hardly an inch between them. Dib was too dull to startle. His blood was hot and Zim had one hand on top of his hand, the other on his arm (when did  _ that  _ get there?) climbing up, and he was leaning forward, antennae pitched forward in that terribly  _ cute  _ indication of pure curiosity - 

_ -.. but Zim can’t be dead because if he is this is too anticlimactic, too  _ unfair.  _ If Zim is dead, it should be because Dib killed him. He can think of literally no other logical reason the Irken should be gone right now. _

_ Dib goes to a computer and pokes uselessly at a few keys. His reflection is faint within it, and he looks away. He clears his throat and orders the computer to start up. Nothing.  _

_ Technically, that doesn’t mean anything, he thinks, Zim’s computer answers to Zim only- _

_ Of course, this isn’t true at all. The Computer recognized Dib Membrane as a constant and non threatening. It answered Dib all the time… _

_ Dib trudges onward.  _

_ The hallways in Zim’s base tilt downward - there are no stairs, only elevators and winding corridors that shift down, down, down. Halfway down one corridor, and something thin and warm brushes against his face. He cries out, leaps aside, flashlight shining frantically around until it settles on a snake- _

_ No, not a snake. A purple, tendril like wire. There are at least six of them hanging down from the ceiling, torn as if they’ve been ripped out. Thin, alien metal poke out of the ends. They don’t spark, but they’re hot to the touch - it occurs to him then, how fucking cold it is down here. Shivering, he hugs his coat closer, and wanders down the hallway into another, empty, silent room. _

_ He calls for Gir.  _

_ Nothing.  _

_ He passes a laboratory equipped with vats and tables for dissections and experiments. There’s a wet, rotting smell here - terror is climbing up his throat. He doesn’t shine the light over the tables or the jars where he knows Zim has taken living things and used them. There isn’t that sweet smell that wafts from Irken blood, and so he decides it’s none of his business and moves on. _

_ He’s turning a corner when he notices something is reflecting off of the metal wall ahead- and bolts forward. _

_ It’s the first bit of light he’s seen and Dib finds it’s source before a panel of controls, keys, and screens on a long dashboard surrounding a massive, cracked screen. _

_ Dib recognizes it as something Zim has used to contact his leaders in the past. _

_ It’s light is dim, but bright enough to fill the room up momentarily before it blinks away. Naturally, it’s in Irken. The Armada symbol is grinning down at him. His blood feels cold. He’s shivering. _

_ Zim’s been teaching him Irken for almost two years now. It’s slow going, and his tongue trips over the weird clicks and curls of the language, but he can read it better than he can speak it. _

_ Dib stares up at the screen. The message blinks on and off… On and off… On and off… _

_ WARNING: ALL SYSTEMS DOWN _

_ CODE D-01220008 _

_ ALL SYSTEMS DOWN _

_ The Armada symbol grins, and grins, and grins- _

  
  


… A split second and Zim’s hands were on his chest, pushing him not too harshly away. 

“You are not supposed to breathe the air here,” Zim said, matter of factly. He was looking away.

Dib coughed, dazed, blinking - it took a good ten seconds to realize he’d been rejected,  _ again.  _

He stared at his cup. The music rushed back in all it's obnoxious loudness. Somewhere, behind his eyes, a headache was trying to start up. Dib kicked himself for hurried fantasies of yanking Zim by the antennae and asking for a room. His fault for drinking. He called the bartender for a water, and the bartender gave him an uncomprehending look. When Dib tried to ask for the equivalent, he offered him rainwater. Dib stared at the glowing green cup of  _ alien rainwater,  _ and didn’t touch it. 

When he thought about the idea of being stuffed with Zim in his voot cruiser - no matter how much bigger it was now - it was suddenly intolerable. The fly home, the co-pilots seat, Goddamn,  _ why  _ hadn’t Zim made a bedroom? Surely he knew what sleeping sprawled across the arm of a pilot's chair did to the human spine?

Suddenly,  _ Zim  _ was intolerable.

Zim was back to his tense, paranoid routine, hood tugged over his head where it’d fallen back, and arms folded over the bar as if nothing had happened. Worst of all, Zim was technically right. Nothing had happened. Nothing ever  _ did  _ happen.

_ I should've gone to bed.  _ Speaking of which, he was suddenly  _ very  _ tired. Birthday or not, he didn’t need to be reminded of the length Zim kept him at.

Dib cleared his throat. “So, uh. How often have you been to this planet?”

It sounded so cliche, and he wasn’t even trying to flirt. Dib immediately cringed and held his forehead. 

“Since before we met, Dib,” Zim muttered, oblivious.

He poked at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “You know, for a supposedly massively intelligent race, you are  _ shockingly.  _ Repressed, Zim.”

“ _ What? _ ” Zim squinted, then shook his head, “The drink substance makes you stupid even on Meekleroth. Remind Zim never to allow you to have it in his presence again. Are you quite done with thi-” Zim stopped himself, eyes narrowing suddenly. 

Dib didn’t quite follow his new line of sight - it was hard to tell where he was looking when his eyes were one vicious color. “What do you mean  _ even on Meekleroth?” _

Directly behind him, in Irken, a voice asked, “He’s tall. Is this the pet I’ve heard about?”

The voice was overly cool, slimey - it climbed up his spine and made him shudder.

Dib jerked his head to the other side. Directly behind him, facing him in the stool, an Irken with big, blue cobalt eyes blinked at him. They were dressed in a black uniform, fine and sleek; the empire’s badge was on their high collar. Their PAK glowed a soft sky blue.

Back to his left, Zim was rigid. He didn’t move, only glared, mouth set into a snarl. Dib thought of a wild dog, coiled so tight it would lunge at any minute.

The Irken smiled. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not here for you, yet,” 

“Then why-”

“Coincidence.” 

Zim glared. Dib looked back and forth between them. Irken’s were all so  _ similar  _ looking. The new Irken glanced over the bar and Dib reached before them - somehow Zim stiffened further. Dib found the sequence he’d watched Zim enact to create their own menu. It flickered to life. 

Blearily, he said, “Uh, you need a menu before you order,”

“Why, thank you,”

Even drunk Dib could hear the malice dripping from their voice. The Irken smiled. They scrolled flippantly through the menu, too quick to even absorb what they were looking at. 

When they spoke, they didn’t look up. Their voice was melodic, where Zim’s was grating and nasally. Their own dialect Dib couldn’t place - their accent was lilting, almost pretty. “You are lucky you are among your own ilk. Otherwise I would trade you in, but I respect the rules of a place such as this…” They glanced past Dib, their smile crawling into their eyes, “Or perhaps you are not so lucky -”

“I think,” Zim lowered his voice to a growl, “when I’ve regained myself, I shall have your organs smeared across my ship after I’m finished with you,”

“Jesus, Zim,” Dib had forgotten how easily violence came to Zim and how absolutely serious a threat like that was. Irken’s loved gore, and didn’t mind shedding it. It was almost like play.

The other Irken seemed once again aware of his presence; they looked him up and down. “And what is your name?”

“Uh-”

“Don’t speak to him,  _ beast,”  _ Zim voice was venomous as he stood up, chair screeching on the slick floor. Dib watched, half confused, unsure who Zim had been speaking to. “This discussion shall continue  _ elsewhere _ ,” 

Shrugging, the other Irken slid off the chair. Standing, he saw they were several inches taller than Zim. Their boots ended higher up their legs, and their PAK was intricately designed. A symbol of status, perhaps? Dib had never quite figured out Irken hierarchy aside from height. 

Zim watched them, then glared at Dib. “Do  _ not  _ move from this spot.”

Dib blinked dumbly at him, watched Zim march away and disappear into the crowd.

In Zim’s spot remained a drink - he must have ordered another while Dib wasn’t paying attention. He reached over, threw it back, scowled at the taste, then set it aside. If Zim was going to be an ass and disappear with his weird Irken friends, fine.

Wasn’t this technically the worst type of date? Getting left behind in a bar? What would Zim do if he  _ did  _ move from this spot?

_ Wait - this isn’t a date- _

Dib started to stand, then felt so dizzy he was certain he’d crash and shatter his glasses. Shakily, he sat back down.

He tried to, instead, think about the other Irken. They seemed to know Zim, and Zim seemed to know them; but he seemed  _ livid  _ by their appearance. An old enemy, perhaps? He knew Zim had plenty of those. _ ‘There are materials I need that my computer cannot supply me with,’ _

Dib realized Zim hadn’t purchased anything that fit that description… Was that what that Irken was here for? A trade? A purchase? Not that it really mattered, but Dib felt left out.

Or lied to.

Suddenly, Zim reappeared, climbing onto the stool beside Dib, scowling and grumbling under his breath. Fury came off of him in waves, something Dib was finally familiar with. Perhaps it was this familiarity that kept him unchecked.

Zim blinked at the empty cup bouncing between Dib’s hands. “Is that-”

“Who was that?”

“ _ That _ ?  _ That  _ was nothing.  _ No one.  _ Mere  _ dust,  _ just another slimy, wretched-” Zim clenched his fist in front of him and seemed to consider throwing his own glass. He looked behind him once, then twice, then hissed something under his breath.

“You’re pretty pissed-”

Zim said nothing.

“Was that who we came here for?” Zim was too preoccupied in his own thoughts to answer. “What’s the matter? Old fling or something?”

Zim’s head lifted, “ _... What.” _

“Oh, it’s none of my business,” Dib held out his hands. He was feeling warm and talkative and just a bit stupid. The liquor wasn’t helping.

“Are you insinuating-”

“Of course not, never- I just wanna know the real reason we came here, you kn-”

“Zim has never-  _ you- _ ” Zim sputtered, then grabbed his face, dragged claws over his eyes. “I am sick of this place. This was a waste of time.”

“Hold on, earlier, you said  _ again  _ and I don’t remember ever drinking with you-”

Zim waved. “Bar-drone! Check! Now!” 

Dib barely had time to readjust the mask back on as Zim jostled him out of the bar. He mumbled something bitter as Zim dragged him back down the bridge through the alleyway, and in the direction whence they came. “I knew this was a stuid idea. You cannot be trusted no matter where I go, always determined to make sure every living organism in this vicinity knows you’re where you shouldn’t belong-” 

“What are you even  _ talking  _ about-”

But Zim went on, “You should have stayed home, Dib-” Zim let him go, and Dib stumbled through the crowd, tripping over a strikingly short alien. When he gathered his bearings, he stood up, huffing - and saw, far behind them, another Irken, dressed all in black, it’s head down, antenna twisted to form a pretty little swirl...

The image was out of his head as soon as Zim clasped his wrist in an iron grip, half dragging him again. He was almost nauseous and the sounds of the marketplace were like some sickening carnival. 

“Now, hold on,” Dib’s words fell together like beads on a string, “wait a minute. Wait a second -  _ don’t belong-  _ none of the people here  _ belong  _ here,”

“These are not people,  _ Dib, _ ” Zim kept his head lowered.

“Oh who  _ gives a shit  _ what they are, Zim, I mean-” he tugged, once. He wasn’t even sure what they were talking about, now, and a fleeting thought had him thinking Zim was just trying to distract him. “I  _ mean  _ why do they care  _ I’m  _ here-”

“Because you are a human and humans are- “ he paused, thinking, then waved a hand, “meddling and terrible and disgusting.”

“What’s any of this got to do with  _ me,  _ anyway? I wasn’t the one who pissed you off so badly-”

Zim kept muttering and eventually, Dib lost track of his words. It was impossible to focus on anything now. The heat of the crowd was near welcoming and the looming structures overhead like some nightmare mobile. He didn’t even realize they’d crossed the swaying bridge until Zim was letting go of him again, and he was stumbling to stop just before the voot cruiser. 

Almost out of breath, Dib threw out his hands. “We were hardly here for an hour!”

Zim threw open the windshield. He pointed. “In,”

“What am I, a  _ dog?” _

“You are very much  _ like one,  _ human,”

Dib glared at him. “What’s your fucking  _ damage,  _ Zim?”

Zim’s eye twitched, but he pointed again. 

“No,”

Zim growled, “It is time for us to  _ leave,  _ human, or would you rather I abandon you here? That mask is not meant for long periods of time-”

Dib sat down in the dirt stubbornly, kicking up a puff of orange. Behind Zim, Gir climbed over the dashboard and landed right beside Dib. “Are we sittin’ here now?”

“We are, Gir,” Dib reached behind him and slung his backpack into his lap, digging through it until he found the carton of strange alien sausage. He picked one up, careful to avoid the black spikes which struck out of it, and offered one to Gir.

Zim dragged claws over his face, and kicked the ship once. “Fine. FINE.  _ Fine _ .” He looked back at the city behind them. “... I seem to have forgotten something at the bar,”

“What-”

“Zim shall return shortly, and then we  _ are leaving.  _ Whether you like it or not-”

“What the hell did you leave at the bar?”

Zim shrugged, “Oh, you know- Zim’s- uh -- my squidlyjet-”

Dib thought he might pass out. “Your fucking  _ what, _ ” 

Zim clicked his fingernails together. “That new pretty knife-thingy,”

“Did you check your PAK?”

“Nope, not in there,” Zim was backing away. He pointed, “Gir! Do not allow the Dib to leave! Dib! Do not leave this voot cruiser, or so help me, I shall tear out your entrails, and wear them as proof of your inferiority.” 

Dib watched him leave with as much malice as he could drunkenly muster. God, Zim could be such an  _ ass.  _

The world was still spinning, however, and it didn’t help with the way the ground beneath him moved, or the way the city ahead moved like stalks in the wind. He thought he might be sick.

Carefully, Dib stood up and climbed into the voot, sealing off the windshield. He yanked off the mask and put his face in his hands. Slow, deep breaths to make the world still. His stomach churned - vomiting up all over Zim’s dashboard was appropriate enough revenge, wasn’t it?

_ Revenge for what?  _

Dib groaned. 

Something metal scrambled up onto the dashboard. 

“Psst,” Gir whispered, “don’t tell Master,” he held out to Dib a handful of brightly colored wires. Magenta, blue, red, yellow. “I gots so many colors,”

Dib nodded wisely. He couldn’t even be bothered to find this alarming. “Mm. That’s not a great sign,”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zim Says, Get Fucked! *takes six shots in a row*


	3. faux missions

There was no squidlyjet because squidlyjet’s did not exist. Zim was so clever - but he couldn’t even appreciate his own sliminess! The Dib had to ruin  _ everything  _ with his sticky feelings and his stupid anger.  _ And then Shriek…  _ That insipid Irken had nearly ruined the surprise..!

Zim shook his head. Across the bridge, the hot din of the crowd had yet to subside. It wasn’t difficult, truthfully, to slip through a crowd unnoticed when you were so-

So.

S-s-s-so.

….  _ Small. _

But Zim could appreciate small victories and he accepted this lot for the advantage it presented him here. He crept through the crowd, head lowered, eyes downcast, brow furrowed so tight it was headache-inducing.

The Dib had to be so  _ difficult,  _ with his stupid face and his weird fingers and his, his sticky sweet words. Zim tried to make himself fume but the anger came out limp. Dib was so  _ distracting.  _ Distracting… Distraction…

_ “You’re a-” _

But no! He’d promised himself he’d discarded those emotions, he didn’t need them, it was un-Irken, and absolutely forbidden. Disgusting. Unwanted…

Zim was staring at his boots, frowning at how the darkness here didn’t allow them to shine.

He had gone on pointless space journeys with the Dib before, as if only to pass the time. He had shown him milky galaxies and purple nebula's. Things he treated with false disinterest. He was far more interested in the way it made Dib’s face light up-

No, that wasn’t true, those trips were just to quell boredom. Invaders could get bored. Of course they got bored. 

Zim recalled, suddenly, receiving the instructions in coming here. At first he was certain it was a ploy to steal away the bounty over his head - the Irken named Shriek had not introduced themselves as a trustworthy creature, but Zim couldn’t push away the sight of the Armada symbol on their collar. “ _ You will see your Tallest’s once again - surely you want this, no?” _

The way his spooch had flipped; he’d been sick with terror, whether he would admit it to himself or not. 

“ _ You’re a distraction,” _

Oh, but he wanted to hear more than that… Zim bit down on his tongue until the pain hurt louder than the thoughts. He trudged on.

He repeated the instructions he’d received earlier that week for the upteenth time in his head. Found the sign he had been told to look out for and darted past it. This took him through several alleyways, up two flights of stairs, a short incline, and over several bridges before he was squeezing through a narrow alleyway and ducking under trash and debris. He climbed over a small hill of cement-like rock and landed on his feet in another, wider alleyway.

The ground here was slick with slime and rain water. Thunder rolled over head. He’d made hardly a sound in coming here, had wound in strange directions on the way to throw off anyone who might be following him… Now, standing very still, Zim was certain he was alone. He looked ahead, shoulders thrown back, hands made into fists. He marched forward.

The alleyway was bare, until he came to a wall of metal shutters, like human storage units. He counted to the seventh one, pausing.

This one was pocked with water stains and a green fungus that climbed it’s surface. Zim stepped back in disgust. 

He waited, listening to the air traffic overhead. This place stank of sweat, mold, and rot. Zim reached and knocked on the shutters.

The metal shuddered, almost thundering in the silence of the alleyway.  _ Too loud!  _ Someone must’ve heard, his mission might be compromised! He suddenly wished for Gir to be here to keep watch, assist him should he be-

The shutters flew up in a rumble.

“You are as touchy as ever,”

Shriek stood in the blackness, their silhouette eaten at by the shadow. They held the shutters over their head with one gloved claw. Zim glared.

“You nearly blew my cover, you absolute  _ fool, _ ”

“Cover? What cover?” Shriek tilted their head, feigned idiocy.

“You didn’t even bother with a disguise, let alone at least  _ some  _ subtlety. Did military training teach you nothing?”

“Please, Zim, tell me what species might down you on this miserable planet?”

Zim raised his chin - that was true. If anyone  _ had  _ recognized him, let alone bothered with a bounty hunt - he would’ve killed them. It was strange Shriek would admit this - his Tallest’s had known of his prowess for years and he’d heard no such compliments from them.

“Even so,” Zim marched past them in regained confidence, “I do not want to waste my time with  _ scenes, _ ”

“Oh, Zim,” the door slid shut, striking the floor with a loud THUD, splattering water from the puddle it landed in. “You are a walking  _ scene.”  _ They tittered. Zim scowled.

Zim had never known Shriek. They were above him in rank, likely older,  _ taller…  _ Their eyes had the malicious sheen of an Irken who had been through a number of close battles, one who had shed quite a lot of blood. 

_ Zim has shed plenty of blood. A billion gallons of it.  _

He was suddenly certain his qualifications outnumbered Shriek’s.

“Shut up! When do we begin? I haven’t got all night, there’s plenty of work I could be doing  _ now  _ in regards to my current mission,” He was squinting in the darkness, his eyes immediately readjusting. This was an abandoned apartment of sorts, an empty, wet, dingy place where Shriek had parked their ship - a tiny thing, a miniature motor-bike-like voot cruiser prized for its increased speed and dexterity. It was small enough to handle the nooks and crannies of a claustrophobic city such as  _ Meekleroth. _

_ I deserve fine machinery such as this.  _ Shriek had to be a beloved soldier to have received a mission like this, a ship like that, a connection like the one they had. Zim’s mouth was curled in distaste.

“Well, let’s not waste any more of your precious time, then,” Shriek appeared at his side, sliding past him into the half open ship where a small satellite had been set up, and a short dashboard. They tapped at it until it projected a glittering screen into the air.

The room lit up. There were ravaged cracks in the ceiling, and a pipe was ruined and dripping somewhere behind him. Some small, oily black insect skittered into the shadows.  _ This room is filthy.  _ He was so far above meeting in places such as this, begging for audience with his leaders, as if he was some miserable  _ criminal- _

_ Well…  _ Zim supposed he  _ sort of  _ was. Then he crammed that thought very far away and watched the static on the screen. It didn’t matter what he  _ was,  _ what mattered was what he was about  _ to be. _

… He thought of Dib in his base. The human’s voice, so soft, trying to coax him out of whatever twisted reverie Zim had caught himself in.  _ Like some wretched animal… _

Zim’s fists were balled tight. A nail pierced through his glove and stuck his palm.

“Ah,” Shriek’s pleasant voice made him start, “here we are!”

The screen blinked to life. 

Zim had always found the bridge upon the Massive to be some sort of spectacle; all those pilots working at the heads of two commanders. All those controls, all those dashboards. Zim was an average pilot; his skills exceeded on the battlefield and in the labs, and while he didn’t necessarily bemoan not belonging on that bridge, well…

… All those Irkens got to be around the Tallests  _ all the time… _

“I didn’t think you’d find him,” Red mumbled, aghast.

“I thought he was dead,” Purple’s mouth was full.

Purple and Red looked as they always did; Purple gripped a slurpee in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. Red was halfway through reaching into said bag when he’d paused as the feed had appeared, mouth agape.

Zim couldn’t have felt happier, or surer of his soon success ( _ success of what? Maybe they want to kill you agai- _ ).

“My Tallest! I understand you finally decided to call upon ZIM once more,” Pride filled his head like a noxious gas, leaving doubt far behind. He didn’t think to bow. He hadn’t gotten to gloat to his Tallest’s in so long… “ _ Excellent  _ decision!”

The Tallest’s shared a sidelong glance before Red faced him again. “You spent longer time in exile on Foodcourtia than you have-”

“Is that what we’re calling it now? Exile? I thought this was-” Red shushed Purple loudly.

Zim twitched;  _ exile.  _ Technically it had only begun some months ago.  _ Because I’ve yet to complete my mission…  _ A shameful thing. He didn’t think about the Irken’s who’d slipped into his base, the restraints, the second trial, the PAK-wiping attempt…

He wanted to feign ignorance; it felt like chewing hot metal, accepting any such accusation.

Zim scratched his neck, “Yes, well, in my time  _ thinking  _ on how I’d, eh-  _ disappointed  _ you so terribly, my Tallest’s, I’ve been reconsidering my methods on  _ annihilating  _ the humans. Oh  _ how they have been re-considered.  _ I don’t think I could ever disappoint you now - if indeed, I ever could at all..! Allow me to explain,” He started with his new plan - which granted, was vague, confused, and… Zim trailed off mid-ramble. “... All this planning has been difficult, my Tallest’s, given you, eh- you have yet to present me with my  _ new mission,  _ so gimme! _ ”  _ he held out grabby-hands.

“New mission?” Purple tilted his head. “What’s he talking about? What new mission? I thought this was an experi-”  
“Will you _shut._ Up. Anyway! Now, Zim… Don’t Invaders _finish_ what they’ve _begun?”_

“Eh?”

“It  _ has _ been  _ ten years,  _ Zim. Is the Earth even halfway subjugated?”

Zim looked aside. “Not- not quite, you see-”

“What happened to the whole, rolling that one planet over the Urrth’s surface-” Purple was making rolling gestures with his slurpee over the snack bag, laughing between words. “Like a rolling pin, right? Ohh that one still gets me-! Is that plan still viable? I’d  _ love  _ to see that one again,”

“Mars is no longer in nearby orbit,” Zim said absently. “There are other planets-” he faltered, antennae lowering. “Certainly you no longer wish for the Earth, my Tallest’s? I promise you it is as useless as a pile of  _ dirt,  _ nothing here is worthy of your, ehh- snacking,” 

Something sharp and cold was turning in his middle. 

“What else would you do with it, Zim?” Red sounded bored. 

“There is really no other planet-”

“Blorch?” Purple offered. Red shook his head.

“No, that’s that taco-planet now, remember? ... Don’t tell us you’ve gone  _ native,  _ Zim?”

Purple covered his mouth to keep from giggling. Zim felt hot with shame.

“ _ Absolutely  _ not! This planet disgusts me to  _ no end,  _ it’s filth is impossible to wash off- truly a perfect place for an exile, which isssss exactly why I should be transferred!”

“Transferred?  _ Where _ ?”

Zim threw out his hands. “Surely there are a shmillion planets which are ripe for conquest? There must be  _ loads  _ of places Zim can brilliantly  _ DESTROY,”  _ He clasped his claws together tight, grinning. 

Purple shrugged. “Impending Doom III already-”

“Will you  _ HUSH-?!”  _ Red hissed, but Zim’s eyes had widened a little. 

“Impending Doom III?” 

“Whoops,” said Shriek, but Zim hardly heard them.

“But Zim received no invita-”

“Zim,” Red leaned forward, dragging hands over his face as if he were speaking to an inexhaustible toddler, “you weren’t  _ invited,  _ AGAIN, because you were in  _ exile.  _ AGAIN.”

“But-”

“But  _ what _ ?”

Zim forced his hands to still - they’d begun twisting again. So un-Irken like. That’s what he got for spending so much time on that despicable planet  _ Earth _ . ( _ When Dib is nervous, he clasps his hands together, runs fingers through his hair _ -) “Was my performance in Impending Doom I not evidence enough of my prowess?”

Red and Purple blinked slowly at him. 

Zim didn’t flinch. He was so used to no one understanding, in fact, he should be commemorated for just that. His unending patience in everyone else's  _ stupidity. _

Red’s gaze suddenly hardened. “Zim. Are you alright?”

“Of course I am,” Zim said simply.

“Are you  _ sure _ ?” Zim blinked, opened his mouth to answer before Red rambled suddenly on, “because if you’re  _ this dense _ , I wonder if your PAK isn’t just slowly self destructing itself. I mean, should we even  _ bother _ ? Will it just keep getting  _ worse _ ?” Leaning halfway out of their ship, Shriek shrugged. “Impending Doom  _ I?  _ Evidence of your- Zim, we lost three thousand Irken that day from your bullshit  _ alone!  _ I can’t even  _ COUNT  _ all the misdemeanors, I mean the list would wrap around the Massive  _ TWICE!  _ You’ve murdered  _ two tallests,  _ and how could I forget the time you nearly killed US-” he made a sweeping gesture to himself and Purple, “- with that FLORPUS thing!”

Zim grimaced. “I was only trying to get you to  _ notice, _ ” 

They both stared at him. “Oh, we notice you, Zim,” Purple said, deadpan.

Zim smiled. “Then shall we continue? I imagine you did not ask me to come here to merely speak of Zim’s accomplishments - although I am  _ so glad  _ you’ve missed me as much as I’ve missed you,”

Beside him, Shriek said, through laughter, “This is  _ appalling, _ ”

Red waved dismissively, impatience twisting his mouth into a snarl, “You suck the fun from everything, Zim. Your new mission -”

“After I destroy the Earth?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. After the Urrth is destroyed, Zim, now shut up. In the  _ meantime,  _ you’ll be receiving this,” as Red spoke, Shriek appeared at his side with a tablet, and, in one of their PAK legs, a glittering chrome microchip. They held it up for everyone to see.

Zim tilted his head. “Ooh, it’s pretty. What is it?”

“It’s your-”

“Another new robot slave of my own?”  
“No, it’s-”

“You didn’t have to send Zim a new Irken video game, you would be surprised of the quality of Earth’s own-”

“ZIM. IT’S YOUR NEXT MISSION.” Red was leaning forward menacingly. 

“Oh. Why is it a chip?”

“If you’d let me  _ finish  _ then perhaps you would  _ know,” _

Shriek stepped behind him carefully. Suddenly, his PAK was alerted of an infiltration - and Shriek was opening a compartment within his PAK’s nervous system.

“Hey! What are you-”

“Shh, listen to your briefing,” Zim could hear the smile in their voice. He was tense, antennae twitching - every Irken’s PAK commands were entirely secretive to each individual Irken (and the Control Brains, of course). Zim had not even the slightest inclination on how to interact with the interface of another PAK- such performances were strictly forbidden.  _ They must be in a terribly high position…  _ Zim forced himself to quit twitching. A wrong move, and his PAK could be compromised beyond repair. The nervous system was so delicate, so complex… And hey, why did this chip need to be in his nervous system? Why not the intellectual compartment? Memory? The  _ mission section- _

Red went on, “When the Urrth is destroyed, in say… How long does it take again?”

“Is it twelve hours?” Purple offered, shrugging.

Behind him, Shriek said, “It’ll take six, actually,”

Red nodded. “In seven hours, this shall activate and uh- _enlist you officially into_ _Impending Doom III._ Understand? Honestly, you can’t ruin this one easily, Zim, but then…” Purple and Red shared another, exhausted gaze. Red looked back at Shriek. “Finished?”

There was suddenly the terrible feeling of a prick, like his spine being pinched, and Zim gasped sharply. Behind his eyes, there were black dots, swimming, swimming...

In an instant the pain was replaced by a dull throbbing between the notches of his spine. The compartment was closed. 

Shriek stepped away, dusting off their claws. “Oh yes,” they tapped at their tablet. “PAK diagnostics and life clock readings shall go directly to the Massive in real time...” They shelved their tablet into their PAK. “Clear to go, my Tallest’s.”

_ Life clock?  _ But then, his PAK was already in constant moderation by the Control Brains… So that wasn’t  _ that  _ strange, he supposed… But...

“Excellent. Zim, I commemorate you on making five minutes feel like a lifetime,”

“Thank you,” Zim nodded, proudly. The gesture made him oddly nauseous. “Now, how will the chip-thingy know I am ready?”

“Oh, it’ll know,” Purple said, “It’s Irken technology, afterall! Now, it’s very important, Zim, that you DO NOT. Hook your PAK up to a medical bay. Understand?”

“Why would Zim-”

“JUST DON’T DO IT!” Purple cried. Zim saluted almost frantically.

Red clasped long fingers together, leaning forward. “You may feel sick, or a little nauseous… In fact, Zim, how do you feel right now?”

How polite of them to ask after him! He did, in fact, feel a little strange. Like he’d eaten something rotten. Like a spike was being driven through his squeedily spooch… The room was so dark, but the screen before him was so bright, it was starting to make his eyes hurt. He hadn’t seen them in so long but it would be nice if the light was just  _ a little  _ softer…

Distantly, he could hear Shriek piling their things away.

“I feel-” Zim held his head, “perhaps - just a bit nauseous-”

Red nodded, “Yep, that’s the mission juice. Strong stuff,”

“I-I see,” Zim wavered. 

“So, no medical bays - because nothing’s wrong with you! Really! It could mess up the data for your, uh, enlistment, so don’t do it! In the meantime, conquer the Urrth! Go crazy, Zim!”

His vision was blurring - he should’ve asked if this chip could be inserted himself once he reached his ship. There was no way he could navigate the crowds in this state. 

“Of course, my Tallest’s - Zim shall-” he was swaying, holding his forehead.

“Oh, gross, he’s gonna faint- _ ”  _ Purple was giggling. “Make sure to give us a call back when you’ve destroyed the Urrth, alright Zim?”

He tried to answer, remind them that they had denied his base the ability to send outgoing transmissions to the Massive, but the words came out rasping, weak. Oh well - he’d find a way to override it. He’d been trying to figure that one out anyhow. 

“Yeah, we really-” Red hid his mouth, “we’re really looking forward to your progress,”

Despite the nausea, he was blooming with pride- they’d accepted him again. “My Tallest’s-”

He was certain he heard them laughing, but when he looked up, the screen was displaying the Armada symbol, grinning, unblinking, grinning, grinning, laughing at him…

Just like-

Zim felt panic rise - no, but this wasn't like then! This was a second chance, one he deserved! They wouldn’t lie to him. They’d never lie to him… His mission hadn't been exile to begin with - he’d made it into exile when he’d failed to complete his mission. He would not fail again.

The screen cut to static, then blackness.

“Well, I wish I could stay and watch but- you did threaten to disembowel me when you’d  _ ‘regained yourself’ _ ,” Shriek made quotations, throwing up the metal shutters and climbing back into their bike-like ship. Zim scowled at them, bent forward in pain.

“Inferior creature. You heard the Tallest’s. Regardless of my lateness to Impending Doom III, I’ll surpass-” he was adjusting his cowl and turning to step toward them when a wave of vertigo swam up and he faltered, stumbling. Shriek laughed, said something dismissively, then their ship crackled to life. It’s life was a soft hum, discreet, made for subtlety. Once again, a fine piece of Irken machinery.  _ When I’m in Impending Doom III, the Tallest’s will surely gift me something like that - for all the pain I’ve suffered for the empire- _

Thoughts like those were so un-Irken like. Revenge was un-Irken like. An Irken didn’t need revenge, should never be in a situation to have to seize it.

_ You are un-Irken like. _

When the room was flung into new darkness, Zim realized Shriek had long since sped out. The shutters had given out and fallen back down. He was on his knees (he’d no idea how he’d gotten there nor when this had happened), gripping a broken edge of a table of sorts before him. 

He tried to heave himself up.

His PAK alerted him, suddenly, of an unknown compromise. Zim waved the notification away; his PAK would determine the chip’s Irken origins and accept it. He just needed to ride out this wave of ickiness, first. He wouldn’t disappoint them again. It didn’t matter how used to blue skies he was, the warm weather in Spring. None of that meant anything in the face of pleasing his leaders. He would not miss planet Earth when it was gone.

Zim rose to his feet. His boots scuffed in the room, the sound brushing off the walls. 

He thought of the darkness of his base. Planet Judgmentia and the way the Control Brains dangled you over the crowd on so many wires… The surge of power and panic and how the back of his mouth had tasted fried. The way everyone laughed when you kicked in your panic.

Dimly, he thought of Dib. 

The earlier anger had fizzled out into something like panic, but as his mind slipped away, he couldn’t quite follow  _ why.  _

_ Maybe they’ll let you take the Dib as a slave,  _ and then,  _ Zim needs no permission,  _ and next,  _ would the Dib go?  _ and finally,  _ he has no choice, he has to say yes- _

… A faltering, would _he_ _say yes?_

When he gripped the shutters and tried to throw them up, a wave of nausea made the room spin.  _ Why is this wretched room so  _ hot..?! He’d never had a mission that made him feel  _ sick  _ before. This had to be that new Impending Doom III technology. The empire  _ did  _ like to test them…

His PAK urged him,  _ ‘Seek Medical Bay Immediately, Foreign substance detected-’ _

“No, Zim is- fine-”

He was swaying.

Maybe Dib would be  _ happy  _ for him, truce or not. Surely he knew the importance of an Invader’s mission? Dib had proven that he  _ cared  _ in some way for Zim’s health and well-being. Of course he did, Zim being his overlord, and all of that...

He blinked groggily… Was he on the floor? Was it hard to breathe? Oh well. A rest before returning to the ship. He would need to think about how he’d explain this to Dib, anyway.

… Things could return to what they’d once been… In the haze, Zim tried to find what that was. Dib’s hand beneath his own. Was it the fighting? Did he miss the fighting? ( _ in the darkness of Dib’s bedroom, Zim laid his hand just so near Dib’s. The human reached forward- brushed his fingertips- human’s were insanely warm, like they were trying to boil themselves alive) _

Zim thought he’d enjoyed space exploration with the human nearly as much as fights to the death... And they still argued all the time, so it wasn’t like the change had been  _ that _ drastic…

… His own franticness, months ago. Everything cold and powerless, his PAK glowing dim in the darkness, the way his anxiety had nearly choked him. The human stumbling through his base when everything had been shut off.  _ Hey hey, it’s alright, relax, relax, Zim, I’m right here, it’ll- _

The darkness swam up to greet him again. He didn’t have the chance to panic this time.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting this one a day early since I'll be busy tomorrow...  
> Happy late Passover, early Easter! Celebrate with traitorous, two-timing ex-boyfriend ZiM as he ruins everyone's lives, especially his own!


	4. bad game of hide n' seek

_ His gloves are torn.  _

_ It’s that thought which draws him out of the fog of his panic. They’re torn. Zim blinks at the fuschia blood bubbling between the leather, then reaches and presses a finger into the tear. There’s a sharp sensation of pain as the blood bubbles over into his palm, and suddenly the room sharpens back into focus. His breath is coming fast, his pulse hammering in his skull. Where is he again? _

_ He looks up. The wires in the ceiling, the blinking light behind him - his base, that’s where he is. The superpanel before him is torn and fried, sparking randomly. His PAK is hooked into the panel, but all of the information is coming back scrambled and indecipherable. They’ve scrambled all the signals - of course they have. This is how the empire attacks rebel ships, defecting aliens - scramble all of their electronics and devices, cut them off from all other life forms.  _

_ Confuse. Isolate. Attack. He’d learned this in invader training. _

_ A test, it’s a test, he thinks, exhaustion slipping into the backs of his eyes. His PAK whirs with frantic overwork - regulating his pulse, clotting the gash in his side, repairing the damage done by the powersurge, mortaring the gaps in his memory... Zim understands, faintly, that he is not missing as much as he thinks he is. He remembers Judgtmentia. He remembers the Control Brains, the Tallest’s, the verdicts, the PAK wiping- _

_ And then his hands. He’d been tearing at the wires searching for the mole, a tiny Irken device which burrows deep within a defecting aliens base at its heart and pumps the place up with viruses, confused, dead end signals, false connections. He’d ripped so frantically, the thin wire had cut right through. _

_ He feels faint. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s bleeding elsewhere, too. His PAK struggles to recognize this as a problem, fails. _

_ Zim pokes at one palm again, nudging the gash to bubble faster. Blinks. Where is he?  _

_ Oh, yes, his base, he’s safe here, deep within the coolness of planet Earth where the darkness seeps through everything. Alone. Alone, no one can- _

_ A sound, far off, like the scuffle of boots. An antenna twitches and panic seizes him. _

_ (they restrained him so fast, he hadn’t thad time to think of the first Trial, their similar uniforms. When they’d dragged him into their ship, they’d inserted something into his PAK which forced a temporary shut down. When he wakes up, it’s in increments. He can’t move, can hardly see- the taste of burnt flesh in his mouth. His PAK warns him to seek a medical bay- he needs to rest but they’re yanking him by his restraints - he collapses twice - time is weak and sludge like. Days have passed, or months, or years. Someone kicks him. Down corridors, the sound of voices, so many Irken’s watching - the ground beneath his feet sways and plummets. Red’s claw underneath his jaw, tilting his head as if to examine him- he’s so tired and Red is a smudge of green before him, all that glittery, overfine garb, all those distracting colors - ‘is he gonna be this stupid the entire time?’ Purple’s voice, ‘I don't want him to be unconscious, that’s just boring!’) _

_ Zim whirls around and presses himself against the wall beside the panel, beneath a control dashboard overhead, antennae pressed against his skull. He quickly unhooks his PAK from the panel. His breathing is erratic, he can’t reign it in. His pulse is thundering away under his skin.  _

_ He realizes, suddenly, that he hasn’t had a coherent thought in- how long?  _

_ Where is he again? _

_ That sound, it’s footsteps, surely footsteps. Zim’s eyes narrow ahead of him. He stares at the doorway where the massive transmission screen outside is blinking the error message. The light fades in… Dim and white. It fades out, throwing the room into darkness.  _

_ Irken’s can see in the dark - Zim snarls. _

_ I’ll tear their eyes out this time, he thinks, if this is a test, I’ll prove myself - I’ll rip out their tongue from their throat, Zim shall make a mess if that’s what they want.  _

_ An Invader must prove themselves - fine. He would. He had for years, he’d do it again. He was certain of his superiority, certain of the success he had had throughout his life. He could keep proving it, over and over, conquer whatever mission was thrown his way. He would always turn out on top. Always. Eventually, they would notice - and then they would pay. _

_ A voice calls - distantly, a memory in his PAK ignites - and then is wiped out with primitive, instinctual fear. _

_ I’ll tear their PAK from their spine- _

_ Zim creeps toward the doorway... _

* * *

“Gir, hold the light still.”

“OK!”

The beams of blue light illuminating from Gir’s eyes directed themselves in the opposite direction. “Gir-”

“YES!”

“- hold  _ still-” _

_ “ _ OK!”

Where Dib’s hands worked on the underside of the super panel in the ship, the light moved aside and he was thrown again in the dark for the fifth time. “Gir, I swear to Christ-” Dib began to sit up to grab the robot- and struck his forehead on the bottom of the super panel. He dropped back down, groaning, rubbing at his head while Gir giggled. “You know, I sometimes think you act like this on purpose,” he reached and flicked Gir on the forehead. “Don’t act like you don’t,”

Gir clapped a hand over his mouth, giggling. Dib paused, staring at him.

Deadpan, “Did you put shit in my hair again?”

Gir’s giggling ratcheted into a shriek. He pointed. “You gots glitter on you!”

Dib groaned and reached up, shaking out of his hair bits of glitter, confetti, and dry pasta that Gir had broken into tiny, deadly pieces and sprinkled,  _ again,  _ into his hair. 

“I said stop doing that,” he muttered.

“It’s hairspray!” Gir slid out from under the superpanel and ran off. 

Dib sighed. “Guess it’s time to take a break,”

He took the moment to stare up at the bottom of the superpanel. Gir had torn randomly from its guts, red, purple, and magenta wires that hissed and sparked as Dib had welded them back into place with a blowtorch ( _ after  _ he had spent twenty minutes bargaining with Gir to get them back in the first place). The computer on the ship wasn’t being particularly helpful tonight, either; when he’d demanded it repair the ship itself, it told him he wasn’t authorized to command it to do  _ anything _ . Which technically was  _ true -  _ except Zim had ordered the computer listen to Dib when he wasn’t around. Unfortunately, this reminder proved worthless without Zim’s presence. So here Dib was, mending where the panel’s metal covering had been bent and digging what might’ve been  _ cookie dough  _ from where Gir had crammed it in the crevices of the engine.

The engine and superpanels were a mass of cube-shaped machinery with two feet of space beneath them. Like some super brain, wires were stuck in a hundred places and connected to the panels along the walls. Some wires were as thick as his head, others thin like garden snakes. They writhed, hummed, and glowed like bioluminescent sea creatures.

Dib shimmied out from under the engine and rubbed his face. The lack of sleep was getting to him. He yawned, thought about climbing into the co-pilot's seat and taking a nap.

Out in the corridor, he heard the sound of something dragging. He stretched and began to dust himself off. Maybe that was Zim, finally back from wherever he’d disappeared? As he stood, Dib caught his smudged reflection in the panel's surface. He frowned.

His hair was askew from where he’d been working, and there were smudges of grease on his cheeks. Since he’d turned sixteen, he’d begun the painful try-hard and punk task of piercing his face. Partially to annoy his father, mostly to keep up with his sister, who was younger than him yet studded and tattooed like she felt no pain - and likely, didn’t. He had a bridge piercing, one corner of his lip pierced (he had to be careful with that one- Zim thought they looked funny and had ripped it out in a fight twice before), and both ears were pocked with little black and red stones (he had green alien gages but he absolutely could NOT wear those one’s around Zim, who found them offensive, and also stupid). Perpetual purple bags beneath his half-lidded eyes made his expression always look a little too grim. And there was a shadow across his jaw… Zim had a bathroom solely for Dib’s use, but he hadn’t packed a razor with him. Oh well.

The sound drew closer and Dib dropped his tools into the compartment that had stuck out of the wall when he’d bent to work - the only bit of the help the ship had offered him.

“Zim, it’s been nearly-” he checked his phone and dropped his jaw, “ _three hours-..?!” How_ had time gotten away from him? _And_ _where on Earth had Zim been all this time?_ He was about to turn the corner to ask the Irken that very question when the sound rounded the corner first - and Dib was staring down at Gir, dragging his toy bin into the engine room. He blinked up at Dib obliviously.

“When I’m bored, Master plays house with me,”

“That so?” Dib asked tonelessly.

“YEP! And I’mmmm the momma… Annnnnd the dad. Annnnd-” he dropped down and emptied the entire bin out onto the floor. “Annnnd the doggy. Annnnnnnd the kitty. And the goldfish-” he held up what appeared to be a plastic goldfish - then popped it into his mouth. “And the pizza. And the horse. And the duck. And the fireman. And the-”

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose and held up his phone. In his text messages, he had exactly three contacts in his most recents: his father, Gaz, and Zim.

He opened Zim’s contact.

_ Hey where the hell are you????????????????????????? _

_ Zim??? I know your reading this it goes straight to your pak _

_ HELLO _

_ HELLLLOOOO _

_ EARTH TO SPACEBOY _

_ ITS BEEN THREE HOURS LETS GOOOO _

_ IF YOU DONT ANSWER IM STEALING YOUR SHIP AND LEAVING YOU HERE _

Dib counted to thirty. Nothing.

Gir tugged his pant leg.

“Which you wanna be? The pizza-” Gir held up a small structure built from legos and lincoln logs held together with fossilized green and hairy gum, “orrrrr the lady?” he held up a matted, stuffed brown dog.

Dib squinted, waving off the detail that he’d never noticed that Zim had  _ actually  _ stocked Gir’s toy bin with  _ actual toys  _ and not junk. “The lady,”

Gir held the matted dog up to him. Absently, Dib took it, staring at his phone.

“Gir?”  
The robot hummed.

“Can you contact Zim?”

“Hmmmm,” Gir paused in his playing as a little communication device popped out of his head. He concentrated intensely. It displayed a message transmission screen. In Irken, it said,  _ connecting… _

_ Connecting… _

_ Connecting… _

_ Signal not found. _

“Awww man,” Gir said, then returned to his playing.

Dib chewed the inside of his cheek. That was… Not a familiar sign. Zim was almost  _ always  _ available. He answered messages mechanically. The only time he ignored Dib was when he was trying to be a dickhead, or if he was  _ really  _ mad at him. Dib was pretty certain their earlier scuffle didn’t quite count, and any remark to steal or touch or do anything with things which were Zim’s always prompted a quick and heated response.

He stared at his phone. Counted again to thirty.  _ Okay. He’s definitely seen it now, so -  _ another thirty. Sixty. One hundred and-

Dib cursed under his breath and crammed his phone into his pocket. Why did he care? Zim had been a total ass before he’d left, and anyway, he probably just got distracted or even lost somewhere. Better to let him figure it out like the moron he was.

Even so... Meekleroth had been kinda cool, and Dib was still hurt he’d been left on the ship. He chewed on his bottom lip.  _ Hurt.  _ He wasn’t  _ hurt  _ about it, just annoyed. This wasn’t a date. This was... an errand. A stupid errand that of course Zim had to make difficult by yanking him around on a planet without letting him enjoy it, rejecting his affections, and ditching him on his own ship with nothing to do.

…  _ But three hours…  _

Dib grumbled something and went to the bridge. 

“Computer, locate Zim,” He tossed the matted dog onto his backpack in the copilot's seat.

“ _ I can’t do that.” _

Dib looked up at the ceiling. “What do you mean you  _ can’t  _ do that? _ ” _

_ “Do I look like Zim’s keeper?” _

Dib crossed his arms. “You don’t  _ look  _ like anything.”

_ “Haha, very funny. I don’t think I’ll help you at all now, _ ”

Dib grabbed his hair, tugging, “Oh, come ONNN! What is this?! You’re not  _ worried _ ?! Zim’s been gone for nearly three hours now!”

“ _ No.” _

Dib dropped his arms. “Isn’t he like your master or something?”

_“I guess,_ ” the computer might as well have just shrugged, gone back to doing it’s nails or whatever. A beat of silence, then the computer added, “ _I couldn’t locate_ _Zim even if I wanted to. I’m not programmed to do that.”_

Dib started to pace. “You can’t  _ figure it out?” _

The computer grumbled. 

Dib glanced out the ship’s windshield and saw orange dust mixing with billowing green clouds. A storm had blown in, kicking up the toxic fumes from way below and shrouding the bridge. The ship had been creaking and swaying gently with the breeze for the last hour. Cloudy rain was running in rivulets down the windshield. 

He went to his backpack on the copilot's seat. “Fine. If you won’t help, I’ll just go find Zim myself.”

_ “Zim said to stay on the ship-” _

He rolled his eyes. “What, are you gonna try and stop me?” Dib tried to sound intimidating, even though if the computer wanted him to stay, it very well could do that.

The computer made a noncommittal sound. “ _ I don’t care,” _

Dib took out the map Zim had given him and spread it out on the dashboard.

Fifteen minutes later and Dib was throwing his backpack over his shoulder, tugging his hoodie up. He put his hand on the windshield.

“But I wanna GOOOOOOO-” Gir’s voice was shrill as he threw himself onto the floor of the bridge, kicking. Dib winced as he dug out his alien translator from his backpack, sticking the bluetooth-like device into his right ear. He lacked in many alien languages; Irken was the only one that supplied a full vocabulary (no thanks to Zim), but his Vortian was decent and he had a few handy phrases with a few others.

“Come on, Gir, you’re supposed to watch the ship-”

Tears were forming at the corners of his big cyan eyes.  _ How is he  _ DOING  _ that..!?  _ “But I don’t WAAANNNAAAA-”

Dib clapped hands over his ears. “Okay! I get it, but listen! If you stay, I promise I’ll- … I’ll buy you something cool from the markets! Whatever you want-”

The tears disappeared instantly. “A head cheese?” Gir hopped onto his feet and leaned forward, eyes somehow widening.

Dib pulled back - how was Gir, supposedly a cold, unfeeling robot, so expressive? Also, why did he smell like boiled hot dogs?  _ Where  _ were his tear ducts?  _ Why  _ give an evil robot slave teardu- 

“Uh-”

“A doggy with real chicken legs?” Gir climbed up his leg then chest, and grabbed his face.

“If you-”

“I WANNA DOGGY WITH REAL CHICKEN LEGS-”

“OKAY! Okay!” Gir was leaning so close now, their faces were near touching. Dib lifted him up and dropped him into the pilots seat. “Alright, yes, a- dog with- whatever. I’ll find that, and bring it back, but only if you stay and watch the ship, okay? And stay  _ right here.  _ No more tearing into the engine room, in fact,  _ DO NOT go in there.  _ Don’t break anything and don’t ruin anything. Got it?”

Gir saluted him, eyes glowing red. Dib patted him on the top of his head, then snapped on his mask and a pair of goggles he found in Zim’s medical room, and threw up the windshield. He hopped out of the ship, landing with a thud.

The rain was steady, pelting him. He ducked his head and made his way for the bridge, squinting. The green toxic fog had drifted up and obscured the other end of it. From here, it was an eerie, lime green maw. The fog parted as he walked, and he shuddered. There was a tingle on his skin, the hint of a burn. Would it scar? Get worse? His hoodie wasn’t that thick, his jeans were ripped. He was wearing fingerless black gloves, and he only had on a t-shirt and binder beneath everything else.  _ Just don’t think about it.  _ He supposed at least his boots were the most reliable thing about this outfit. Dib gripped the handrails harder and tried to walk faster.

The fog muffled any sound, and when he neared the end of the bridge, the din of the crowd seemed to come from nowhere. Even in bad weather, it never thinned.  _ Okay. Retrace our steps.  _

Dib kept himself as small as he could, shoulders drawn in as he joined the main, sticky walkway. Overhead, ships whirred by and voices shouted down from the overarching bridges. He tried to stand on his tiptoes to see over the crowd - then realized Zim would be too short to see from above. The rain didn’t help either, bouncing off of the figures down below and creating small wafts of mists that drifted up, up. Dib dropped back down onto the balls of his feet, and walked slower. Where should he go? Map or not, his plan was flimsy, stupid. 

He stopped at the vendor selling  _ azathogs.  _ Nothing - the vendor hadn’t seen Zim since they’d purchased from him earlier. Dib checked his phone. No response there either.

He found the cart selling live aliens on a stick - the ethics of which Dib didn’t even wanna begin to parse - that Zim had loved so much. When he tried to ask the vendor if he’d seen Zim (Dib gesturing to indicate Zim’s tiny height, feigning anger to describe his personality - both attempts succeeding in offending the vendor somehow), he got nowhere. He kept walking, slowing between alleyways to peer into them. When he saw a familiar bridge overhead, he walked a little faster, aiming for the slimey black wall. 

The rain roared overhead, pounding against the bridge. Dib let the tittering whining of Irken smeets lead him.

He stopped at the Irken vendor. In their cages, the smeets were each terribly small, like runts. Was that what they were? Too tiny to be bothered with? Dib grimaced. The place was so loud, the Irkens were all wet eyed and weepy. Two aliens that looked a bit like red iguanas were examining one smeet, holding it up by it’s ankles, prodding its belly and speaking quietly together. The smeet squirmed and whined.

Dib forced himself to face the amber-eyed Irken vendor- although the Irken spoke first.

“Do you speak Irken?”

Dib nodded.

“Ah- finally. The most common language in the galaxy and I’ve had too many non-speaking customers. A pain, really. What sort of services are you looking for?”

Dib cleared his throat. “I was actually wondering if you’d seen another Irken recently. About… This tall-” he held his hand to about the middle of his chest. “Really loud. Magenta eyes, in an Invader uniform, also magenta? Likes to insult people? He might be wearing a purple shawl…?”

“Magenta, you say?” The Irken stroked his chin, smiling. His accent reminded Dib of the blue-eyed Irken he’d seen at the bar. Really, he needed to visit Irk. Their accents were all so strange and he’d yet to find an Irken who talked like Zim - not that he’d met that many to begin with. The smeet-seller shrugged, eyeing Dib suspiciously. “... Perhaps I’ve seen an Irken of that description… How much do you want for that information?”

Dib blinked. “Uh… I… I just- he’s a friend. I just need to know where he is, you know?”

The Irken laughed. It was grating, sharp where the blue-eyed Irken had sounded sing-song. Dib made a guess that this Irken was far older than Zim - perhaps middle-aged, in human terms. 

_ “A friend.  _ Good one. Listen, if you want that one, you’ll have to try a little harder. Don’t think you’re the first to try to wrangle that guy, now.”

Overhead, a throng of lightning filled the underside of the bridge and cast everything in white light. Thunder shook the bridge - several of the Irken smeets shrieked in terror. 

In the back of his head, Dib remembered that Zim  _ hated  _ thunder.

“Excuse me?” 

“Truly, I’ve no idea. I saw that one earlier, but that was hours ago. He’s bound to have left the planet by now. You’ve missed him.” 

Dib stared. The vendor looked as if he would offer more, when to their right the two iguana-looking aliens held up a smeet, asking for a price. 

“I suppose I’d offer you luck, but,” the vendor patted his shoulder roughly and winked at him, then turned to the iguana-aliens and began speaking prices.

Without sparing the poor, suffering smeets another look, Dib shuffled away.

What was  _ that  _ about?

He felt suddenly very stupid. This had been a bad idea - he was out of his league, needed more time to plan. Meekleroth wasn’t  _ huge _ , but it was an entire planet for goodness sake! Several thousand miles across. Zim could be  _ anywhere  _ by now..!

Dib frowned. Three hours wasn’t  _ that  _ long… It had to be about six in the morning now on Earth… Dib raked fingers through his dripping hair, breathing heavy into the mask. God, he needed a drink.

He passed under the bridge, and back into the rain. It thundered against the hood of his jacket which had nearly soaked entirely through.

He stopped suddenly. 

\-  _ I seem to have forgotten something at the bar- _

He spun around. The _bar!_ How the hell had he forgotten?! Dib pushed through the crowd and ran through the alleyways, leaping over filth and thin rivers of toxic rainwater before he reached the bridge's entrance.

He passed the bouncer as usual, squeezed through the narrow hallway. The filthy floor here was slick with almost a half-inch of water from the dripping patrons who slipped in and out. 

Outside, a second wave of thunder roared. Inside, the music drowned it out. Dib yanked off the goggles and let them hang around his neck, replacing them with his glasses. He searched the place high and low, climbing onto the bridges and peering between small cliques of aliens. He knocked on the doors to private rooms (which got him two long-winded scoldings that he understood almost not a word of, and, once, a very tall, very slim nude alien grabbed him by his ear and threw him over the side of one bridge - where he’d landed on the one directly beneath it painfully). Peering over the side of said bridge for an aerial view of the flashing club, he spotted an Irken on the dance floor. He’d called Zim’s name three times, to no avail. Running down, he’d tapped their shoulder and they’d spun. Dib immediately recognized his mistake - this Irken nearly reached his chin in height and their PAK was more purple where Zim’s was magenta.

“Sorry,” he squeaked, hands up in surrender as he backed away, worming off the dance floor with it’s blinking floor lights. 

Anxiety was settling into his stomach, as well as a hefty list of insults he’d hurl at Zim once he found him. He kept checking his phone. No response - not even a notification that they’d been seen. And the smeet-selling Irken’s words kept itching at the back of his head. _ Listen, if you want that one, you’ll have to try a little harder. Don’t think you’re the first to try to wrangle that guy.  _

Had he even known who Dib had been referring to? Technically, he hadn’t mentioned Zim by name - neither of them had. But he had a sneaking suspicion the Irken had known. He’d smiled and winked like he had.

Dib stood dumbly in the middle of the pulsing club, aliens writhing past. Funny - in any other situation, he’d be  _ ogling  _ at all of this. But now his mind wouldn’t sit still. He couldn’t appreciate the music and all it’s bizarre alien instruments. The vocals he might’ve studied for cultural significance. 

Miserably, Dib slid into the bar and opened the menu. He scrolled for a good three minutes before he finally found the drink Zim had ordered him earlier. He tapped his fingers against the counter, his other hand gripping his forehead and tugging at his unkempt hair.

… Could he be hurt..? Zim was stupid and couldn’t pick his battles. Had he gotten into an argument with an alien twice his size, had his ass handed to him, and now he was bleeding out in some back alleyway while Dib stared down into the purple depths of this stupid drink?

The anxiety was twisting into terror. No, no - Zim didn’t deserve all this concern. Zim was an asshole. Zim had left him here. Zim had lied - somehow. Dib didn’t know how yet, but he’d figure it out…

His mind wandered…

  
  


_ Dib turns from the Armada symbol and squeezes his eyes shut. The light is too bright somehow - or maybe it’s just the way it makes the base look so  _ false.  _ Like car lights against a tree.  _

_ “Zim! Zim, you coward! Come on you stupid cockroach! Come out from wherever you're hiding and face me!” _

_ Like they’re twelve again. _

_ Silence, silence. Dib puts his face in his hands, rubbing hard like he wants to scrub the aching behind his eyes. When he looks up, it’s the same white false light. Behind him the same grinning Armada symbol, the same error message.  _

_ He opens his mouth to call again when he hears what might be a scrape, or the scuff of his own boots against the tile. He stiffens, spinning in what might’ve been it’s direction, his flashlight illuminating a series of medical bays with their cracked glass and dull red emergency lights. _

_ “Zim?” _

_ His voice might’ve just cracked, but Dib hasn’t the time to notice. He’s running toward the bays, squeezing in between them where he knows there’s a control panel room and- _

_ There’s a flash at his left, then his right, and something rips past and up him - he can feel pricks crawling up his legs, then stomach, then onto his shoulders and behind his neck, and Dib has a fleeting moment to be reminded of a kitten he had as a kid; the way it’s little claws had dug into his skin when it tried climbing up him. The something yanks him backwards until, together, he and it strike the cold glass of a medical bay. _

_ There comes the soft ssshhh sound of a blade against his throat, and all of this has happened in the span of one and a half seconds. Dib’s heart is pounding and a claw grabs his hair and yanks his head back, further exposing his neck. Another claw wraps from behind and clutches his chest, tearing through the fabric of his shirt to steady itself. _

_ “State your business here now, or I’ll tear your spine from your throat,” _

_ Zim’s voice is grating, raw, and between gasps. The smell of Irken blood is overwhelming - it burns Dib’s nostrils. _

_ He holds his hands up in surrender. The flashlight fell when Zim leapt onto him. It rolls in a semicircle on the ground, pauses to illuminate the room Zim has just bolted out of. _

_ “J-Jesus, Zim, you’re gonna give me a f-fucking heart attack,” when he tries to laugh it comes out dry and cracking. _

_ “Why are you here?” _

_ In the room ahead of them, Dib can see the walls of the control room. There are panels along the walls, their protective covers torn off. Wires spark. There is a burn mark, black and still smoking, along several of them. The acrid scent of burnt plastic and metal sears the air, mixes with the sugary smell of Irken blood.  _

_ “Will you let me go-” _

_ “Why are you here?” _

_ “Zim, you prick, you’re gonna scalp me-” _

_ Zim yanks, once, “And I’ll rip your head off next. What do you  _ want,  _ wretched creature?” _

_ Dib swallows. The movement is painful, and he can feel the double-edge of Zim’s PAK leg against his skin as the lump goes down. Against the back of his neck, he can feel the heat of Zim’s breath. His hair stands on end.  _

_ “Zim,” he begins, slowly, “Do you know who I am?” _

_ Somewhere in his muscle memory, this is not entirely unnatural. Somewhere, a twelve-year-old Dib is revving to fight back, and in his grimace now, there’s a grin, too. _

_ But he’s never seen Zim move quite that  _ fast  _ before. _

_ “Zim - it’s Dib. Y-you know me. You know me, right?”  _

_ He can practically  _ hear  _ Zim grit his teeth. “Why are you in my base?” _

_ Dib gestures to shrug, until Zim’s grip somehow tightens. “I’m in your base all the time, Zim!” _

_ “Explain yourself, or I’ll cut your throa-” _

_ “Fuck, what’s your goddamn problem! You disappear for days and n-now you’re trying to fucking kill me, what is this?! I was worried about you! Christ!” _

_ There’s a pause. Dib waits, feels the cold metal draw closer - then, imperceptibly away.  _

_ Dib tries to clear his throat, fails. “Zim, we-” _

_ Suddenly, Zim kicks off of him, shoving him forward where he stumbles, steps on his flashlight and falls. Dib scrambles to put more space between them, bringing a hand up to his neck. A thin paper cut there. Blood stains his fingertips. “What the fuck-” _

_ Zim is against the medical bay, half poised to spring forward, half leaning as if he might faint. Blood cakes his tunic, falls in an unsteady line from either corner of his mouth. There’s a wide gash along his left cheek. His green face is pale as the light fades in from the other room. His eyes are wide, feverishly bright and narrowed into slits. _

_ Zim blinks. Squints.  _

_ Dib thinks it’s comprehension which floods through his face. That and something else, something miserable and- _

_ Zim snarls. He points a PAK leg at him. Now that Dib is at least a few feet from certain death, he can see that the PAK leg - and in fact, all of Zim - is trembling. Badly. _

_ “Leave,” Zim grates out. _

_ “Wh-what the fuck happened? What’s wrong with you?” _

_ “Nothing is wrong with me-” _

_ Dib looks Zim up and down, laughing weakly to mock him, tell him no, no he isn’t, when his eyes catch something at Zim’s feet. _

_ Surrounding his right foot is a dark smudge of Irken blood. It’s steadily growing, and Dib follows the darkness in his legging and up into the high side of Zim's tunic where his lungs might be. Where the stain is darkest. Dib swallows. _

_ “Zim, you’re bleeding bad-” _

_ “LEAVE.” He shouts and steps forward- then sways. Dib darts to catch him, but a PAK leg strikes out and beats him to it. Another strikes out just as fast- _

_ -and nearly skewers Dib through his midsection- _

The drink didn’t go down easily, grimacing at the memory. He orders a second drink.  _ I’m gonna kick his ass,  _ he thought, and then, bitterly: 

_ He never told me what the fuck happened that night. _

_ That night?  _ Those four days? Dib couldn’t figure it out. Zim had kept so tight-lipped about it, had blown up over it three times. He’d never seen him so angry and frightened before.

A second round came. Dib threw it back, slammed the drink back down. The sound made the Vortian with winding, golden, ram-like horns beside him jump. He glanced at her once before he faced her fully, the liquor warming his face. He asked the same thing he’d asked the smeet-seller, the vendors in the markets, everyone. Gestured to indicate height. Leaned forward annoyingly to indicate  _ annoying-ness. Magenta eyes, grating voice. Impossible to forget.  _

A moment of incomprehension - before something different but equally concerning crept into her face, and she was turning away from him, off of her stool. “N-no I don’t know Invader Zi-... An-anyone like that - I don’t talk to Irkens,”

Dib watched her go. Why did Vortian’s look like goats and rams? He tilted his head, dwelling on theories of possible hybrid babies bred from aliens visiting the Appalachian, thoughts blooming out of the alcohol slow and lazy; the way Zim, beside him in the bar, grinned so devilishly - he liked fun, loved trouble, loved, seemingly, thrusting Dib into it all with him. And Dib loved it, too, the trouble, the adventures, the violence, Zim leaning forward, all the curves of his face, the column of his neck-

Sudden anger. Dib near fell off the stool as he stumbled quickly after the Vortian, grumbling.

“You know, I don’t understand what the big deal about Zim is,” he shouted over the crowd, pushing through it- he was certain he saw the golden curve of her horns just ahead - “he’s literally the galaxy’s most incompetent  _ fuck up _ , how  _ dangerous  _ could he possibly  _ be- _ ”

He crashed, hard, into a mass of muscle. Dib bounced off the mass, and the alien before him hardly leaned backward from the impact - but his drink did tilt out of his four-fingered grasp and cascaded, in slow motion, all over the front of his actually quite fine, cobalt blue uniform.

The bar felt suddenly very, very quiet.

Dib was on his ass, staring up at the reptilian, square-shouldered alien before him. He had horns along his brow bone, and horns on his nose, ivory and pierced (how the hell had he done that? Had it  _ hurt?).  _ The uniformed, reptilian alien stared down at where his black, gelatinous drink was now dripping down the front of his uniform coat in great globs. Dib squinted at the sigil upon the breast but didn’t recognize it.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ -” Dib held up his hands. “I-I’m so sorry- I didn’t see you, let me just-” Handkerchief, had he brought a handkerchief-

The alien had two eyes, but they were frighteningly large and yellow like a hornet. No irises. Dib felt himself shrink as the creature stared down at him. From his backpack, he procured a folded up tissue, smiling weakly.

“Look, I’m really-”

The alien slapped the tissue from his hand. Before he could react (the liquor made everything slow), the alien was grabbing Dib by the front of his shirt. 

“H-hey, hey, I said I was sorr-”

Naturally, there were smaller, bonier horns along the knuckles of the creature's hands, so when his fist connected with Dib’s right eye, it broke skin. Had his grip been lighter, Dib would’ve been thrown. The familiar crunch of breaking glass. Through the haze Dib could tell his glasses were cracked  _ bad. _ When he clapped a hand over his face, he realized he was traveling toward the club’s entrance - indeed, he was still being  _ dragged _ toward it.  _ At least he missed the mask,  _ Dib thought weakly.

Dib was kicking, shouting, feeling blood running in a semi-circle around his right eye. No one paid them any mind. In fact, several aliens were laughing. The alien dragged him by his collar through the narrow corridor, past ambling drunken aliens who hardly spared them a second glance, and out into the open where the rain had died out into a persistent drizzle. Somewhere ahead, thunder rolled. Dib expected to be hurled away like a drunk who’s had one too many- until the alien’s grip didn’t loosen and they were turning a corner into another alleyway.

“H-hey-” Dib’s hands clawed at the alien’s grip as a cold terror seized him.  _ Zim, where’s Zim, he-  _

But he was alone, stupidly alone, because Zim could never be relied upon for anything.

Dib tried to angle his nails to dig under the scales that tiled themselves along the alien’s hands and wrists, but they were tough like armor, wouldn’t budge. He punched at his arms. “Come on, this is ridiculous! It was a complete acci-”

He was lifted up a few feet higher, and then his spine connected with the wall of an alleyway, throwing all of the air out of him. The back of his skull bounced off the hard wall, and he saw stars.

Weakly, one hand had been scrambling for the knife in his pocket - there were no curious eyes watching now (although Dib realized too late that that wouldn’t have mattered anyway). In a flash, it was beneath the aliens chin - 

Dib froze.

Against the side of his neck, the point of a blade. He drew in a slow breath. His face hurt.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t cut your entrails out now,” The translator in his ear crackled. The reptilian alien’s voice ground out like water crashing over rocks. Dib swallowed.

“Because you don’t know where they are…?” He offered weakly.

“I’ve had creatures for breakfast that were bigger than you,” the alien leaned in. This close, Dib could count the thick, yellow rows of teeth in his mouth. Momentarily, the scientist in him compared them to the horns. Visibly, it was only the coloration that was off-

He felt the blade at his neck dig forward and he drew in a sharp breath, wincing-

From his backpack, something suddenly burst forth, something clunky and metal and stinking of hot dog water.

Gir’s eyes flashed red as an arsenal of whirring weaponry burst from his head and shoulders. A dozen little red dots appeared on the aliens forehead. 

“THIS ALIEN IS IRKEN PROPERTY. NONE SHALL HARM HIM!”

Immediately the alien’s blade clattered onto the stony ground. He took three rapid steps back, dropping Dib.

“Then where the fuck is his owner?!” The alien hissed.

Gir’s eyes were shifting to cyan. “I DUNNO-” Dib clapped a hand over Gir’s mouth. 

“H-h-he’s nearby! Really nearby, so you’d better, uh- you know - scram, or he’s gonna kick your ass!”

The alien scowled at him, spitting in his direction. The glob of saliva was green and seemingly acidic as the ground around it hissed and bubbled. “If I catch you alone again, I’ll rip your ribs through your skin!”

Half sick with terror, Dib barked with laughter. “Just fucking try it!”

The alien stalked off, growling. Dib sank down the wall.

On his shoulders, the arsenal folded in on themselves, disappearing back where they’d come from. Gir, cyan and smiling, faced him and waved.

“Your backpack smells like sausage!”

Dib’s heart was in his throat. “Holy shit, Gir,”

“Mary was in trouble!”  
“Y-yeah,” he nodded slowly, then sprung away from the wall, snatching Gir from his shoulder and pulling him into his arms. “Wait! I told you to stay and watch the ship!”

“I was lonely!”

“Oh,” he ducked deeper into the alleyway, hiding behind a massive metal container that might’ve been a dumpster. “Uh… I guess I should thank you,” he began, but Gir was already hopping out of his grasp into a puddle.

“We gonna play hide ‘n seek now?”

“Feels like we already are,” Dib patted Gir idly on the head, then sat on a molding crate. He reached and touched around his right eye and immediately hissed in pain. He could feel the start of a massive bruise forming, making the skin tender. Four lines of blood dribbled lazily from four points of where the alien's horns had broken skin, two on his forehead, two more along his eye socket. He supposed he was lucky his eye hadn’t popped out… Dib glanced down at his glasses miserably. The right lens was miraculously not shattered but cracked beyond repair, and the circular wire bent. When he placed them back on, they hung lopsided. 

Before him, Gir opened his head and plucked out a suspiciously clean handkerchief. Dib took it gingerly, and dabbed at the blood. Gir leaned in secretively, “Master’ll be sooo mad if Mary’s all bloody,”

Dib blushed despite himself. “... If he cares that much, then where the hell is he?”

Gir shrugged, smiling.

“I mean, Zim could be getting killed- but wait, I just- I  _ nearly just got killed!  _ That guy would’ve totally disemboweled me, you saw that!”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded wisely, “Like this,” Gir, a little too on the nose, had lifted up some alien-roach-insect and squashed it between his little robot hands. Guts splattered. Dib flinched.

“Y-yeah, like that.”

Gir plopped down in front of him.

“Can you believe he’s like this? I mean, how long are we gonna be stuck here- what if he’s gone back to the ship and he’s there now… He wouldn’t leave us..” Dib frowned. “No, of course he’d leave us. He’s probably leaving us right now.” He stared up into the grey-black drizzle, at the faint lime green color the clouds emanated between the webbing of bridges. It was sorta pretty, if toxic waste could look pretty. Beside him, Gir was patting his hands into the puddle he’d dropped himself into, splashing Dib’s pant legs. He folded the handkerchief away and put his forehead in his hands.

“We gonna be stuck here foreva?” Gir asked. Dib shrugged. “Aww, don’t sad, Mary! Master’ll come back! My little chip-tracker thingy says Master hasn’t left at all!”

Dib’s head shot up. “Your  _ what- _ ”

Suddenly, Gir’s head procured an antennae - and then next, a little projection. A map of the surrounding area and two blinking dots. The first dot was red - Dib assumed it was their current location. The other dot was of a little Irken symbol. It was pink and it blinked steadily some ways from where they were now.

Dib jumped up. “Gir! Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”  
Gir sighed dramatically. “I wanted to play hide n seek with Mary and Master, but yous a bad hider,”

Dib reached out as if to strangle the robot... Then dropped his hands to stare at the projection.

The map detailed alleyways, bridges, deadends, and narrow side passageways. Dib put his finger above the red dot, traced toward the pink one.

“Well, he isn’t  _ that _ far away…” Dib straightened. He looked out toward where they’d come, then the other way, hands stuck deep into his pockets. The liquor was making his head throb. The getting-thrown-into-the-wall issue hadn’t helped either. His face still hurt. He began chewing at the inside of his cheek. 

Something was fishy, but he didn’t know what.

Gir was staring up at his projection like it was star constellations. Zim still hadn’t moved, not an inch. Dib wrung his hands together. That other Irken had moved with the grace of a trained bounty hunter. Zim’s current location seemed to be in a narrow alleyway.

_ You’re not the first to try to wrangle that guy- _

“Um. Is… Is he dea-”

“Nope!” Gir chirped pleasantly. Beside Zim’s identification dot, vitals appeared. They seemed normal, but Dib couldn’t be sure - he didn’t understand the PAK very well. He looked ahead one more time.

“Alright Gir. Keep the map out and any weapons ready-” Immediately the map was replaced by a new, spiky arsenal as Gir jumped to attention. Dib waved his hands in an enough gesture, shaking his head, “No, no, not - ready like that, put that away-” they disappeared rapidly to be replaced by the map. Gir stuck out his tongue. “Just- be  _ ready  _ to attack when I say, okay? Or when things look deadly- not that I can’t handle myself, you’re just backup. Do you understand?”

“Yes!”

“Alright,” he nodded, “Now-”

Suddenly, Gir screamed. “LOOK! It’s Master!” He pointed behind him and Dib spun to the place where the alien had earlier thrown him into -

-and found on the wall, a discolored poster. It was wet and torn, peeling downwards at one angle. A fungi-looking substance was growing from the bottom up. Two different languages boomed in big, red letters at the top of the poster. The first language Dib couldn’t identify, but that didn’t matter. The second language was Irken.

Dib felt cold.

The poster read:

_ MOST WANTED BY THE IRKEN EMPIRE _

_ CRIMINALS LISTED ARE HIGHLY DANGEROUS AND ARE TO BE TREATED AS SUCH. CAPTURED ALIVE, 9,999,999 MONIES. CAPTURED DEAD, 5,555,555 MONIES, AND ALSO A SMOOTHIE OF YOUR CHOICE. _

There were half a dozen faces here, several Irkens, several Vortians, one Plookesian. Dib’s eyes, however, were immediately drawn to the annoyingly familiar Irken at the very top. 

In his sketch, Zim was snarling - if he were here, he might think it sort of cool. Something to be proud of. He’d likely take the poster down to be kept in his lab for old time’s sake.

_ IRKEN ZiM _

_ WANTED BY THE IRKEN EMPIRE & CONTROL BRAINS FOR: _

_ TWO COUNTS OF ASSASSINATION OF A TALLEST(S) _

_ TWO COUNTS OF ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF A TALLEST(S) _

_ FORGERY OF PAK IDENTIFICATION _

_ SIX COUNTS OF CONSPIRACY AGAINST THE EMPIRE _

_ TWO COUNTS OF COLLUSION WITH THE RESISTY  _

_ FOURTEEN COUNTS OF THEFT OF ELITE MILITARY WEAPONRY _

_ TWO COUNTS OF EVASION OF EXISTENCE EVALUATION _

_ AND _

_ ONE COUNT OF EVASION OF PAK DEACTIVATION AS ORDERED BY THE CONTROL BRAINS _

_ ALSO VERY, VERY ANNOYING. DO NOT CAPTURE ALIVE. JUST BRING THE PAK BACK PLEASE SO WE NEVER HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS AGAIN. _

  
  


“Master looks funny!”

Dib thought of Zim throwing the cowl over his head, ducking in the crowds, eyes downcast.  _ Zim is blending in just fine…  _ The furtive glances. The way his fingers had thumped nervously on the bar counter. 

_ You aren’t the first to try and wrangle that guy- _

That blue-eyed Irken _ \- you’re lucky you are among your own ilk. Otherwise, I would trade you in- _

Dib stiffened.  _ And he brought me here knowing we could both get  _ killed...  _ On my fucking birthday no less..!! _

Impressive a list of crimes as it was, Dib hadn’t wanted to punch Zim so badly in  _ years.  _ He clenched his fists and looked down at Gir.

“Did you know about this?” He asked through gritted teeth.

Gir squinted up at the poster. “UMMM. Yes.”

“ _ Seriously?!” _

“Yes!”

He threw his hands out at the poster. “Gir, this is really bad! Zim could be getting arrested right now, and I don’t know if the ship would let me fly it home if he’s not in it!” He started to pace. Gir followed right on his heels, the map flickering. When he stepped in a puddle, he hardly noticed. 

_ I can’t believe this.  _ Although he should’ve known by now Zim was among the most wanted in the galaxy, infamous ball of absolute chaos that he was. But Dib didn’t realize it was  _ this bad…!  _ Assassination of a Tallest?! Dib thought he  _ loved  _ his Tallest’s, he practically worshipped them! When the Florpus incident had happened, he’d nearly destroyed life as Dib knew it just to make his leaders  _ notice… _

Dib’s pacing slowed.

The Tallest’s hadn’t called in a while. He didn’t know for how long, just that they didn’t contact Zim as often as they used to. Any time they were brought up, something in Zim’s eyes twitched. Zim wore his heart on his sleeve (a figure of speech Zim  _ did not  _ get), and so these little mannerisms built up in Dib’s head as indications for rocky territory. Vulnerability and Zim did not mix well.

Dib stopped in front of the poster again. Behind him, Gir crashed into his legs and collapsed. 

_ Evasion of PAK deactivation.  _ Dib pressed a hand against his mask. He thought of Zim deep in his base, panting and covered in his own blood. 

“Gir!”

“YES!” Gir saluted him.

Dib knelt down to almost Gir’s height and peered at the map.

He didn’t like how the Tallest’s laughed when Zim detailed all his hard work. The way Zim spoke so fondly of interactions anyone in their right mind would deem unhealthy, fascist,  _ cruel.  _ He was a cog and he didn’t even know it. When it was brought up to him, he was vicious, denying, furious. Like a cornered, wounded animal.

That evening months ago sharpened in Dib’s memory. Had that been an attempt on Zim’s life? Had he nearly been captured, fought to get back to his base? He’d been so wound up, miserable, more frightened than Dib had ever seen him. 

“Let’s go find Zim and get the hell out of here,” he dipped to scoop Gir up.

“I’ll hide in here!” Gir announced, climbing halfway into his backpack. He kept his head stuck out, elbows resting on Dib’s shoulders, metal digging into his skin so that the map might project itself off to the side like a GPS. 

Dib grimaced. “Jeez, you and Zim are so knobby-”

“I got knobs!” Gir cried. Dib sighed and stepped back into the throng of crowds.

Had any other aliens spotted Zim? And if they had, had they spotted Dib, too? He thought of the blue skinned alien Zim had technically saved Dib from. Had  _ he  _ recognized Zim? Paranoia edged into his vision. He kept his eyes down and avoided eye contact with everything and everyone around him. Bit the inside of his cheek, because he knew he stood out like a sore thumb. He’d never, in all of his travels, seen another human before. As he walked, he could hear the whispers, the murmuring. Had it been there when he’d been with Zim earlier? It felt loud, pointed, worming it’s way into his ears and pawing at his brain. Eyes followed him.

The pink dot on the screen blinked. Went forward-

“Hey,” Dib skidded to a stop, “Hey, hey- he’s moving-”

Gir shrieked in his ear and Dib nearly fell over. “WE GOTTA CATCH ‘IM! FASTER MARY!” Gir kicked him like he was a horse.

Maybe it was the childlike excitement in Gir’s voice like this was some game of tag - maybe it was the biting anxiety in his stomach at the way the dot lurched, paused, then went forward again, zombie-like. Dib looked ahead. According to the map, they were very close. He turned at a sharp right and squeezed into an alleyway. 

He began to run.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super happy to say that I've outlined pretty much this entire fic! And Im like bursting with excitement to keep writing this! It's honestly getting me through all this craziness. Thanks a million for all the comments thus far! <3 Pls take care & c ya next Sunday!


	5. factory reset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heightened violence & some gore for this chapter, and the good news is, it's only worse from here on out.

_ Dib stills, holding his breath to keep from swaying toward the extended PAK leg. He rakes his eyes from the tip of the metal to Zim.  _

_ For a minute, Zim’s expression is that of a terrified onlooker, as if he isn’t the one making the PAK leg move. Then, his teeth set into a grimace. Dib can see blood there, too, running from pink gums. Like he’s chewed on glass. _

_ Slowly, like he’s testing the temperature of the water, “I was worried about you,” _

_ Zim’s eyes are trained on him like he’s only half certain he knows who he is.  _

_ “Not that you  _ deserve  _ anyone’s worry, you absolute moron. But it’s- been four days. The base is shut off, or something. I tried knocking, I- I’ve been calling. I wasn’t trying to surprise you. I tried looking for Gir…” Zim’s antennae pop up in recognition and Dib thinks he sees his brow turn up. Like he’s just remembered something terrible. Dib’s about to continue when Zim coughs, hollowly. Dib is certain he can  _ hear  _ the cogs and gears within Zim falling apart. He glances behind himself, into the room where Zim had come from. It looks like it’s been attacked, like someone’s fought for their life in there. _

_ He looks back at Zim. “What happened there?” He gestures with his chin. _

_ Zim’s eyes dart past him. “What’s it to you, earth-rot?” _

_ Oh, he knows who I am, Dib thinks, and despite himself, he laughs. It comes out soft. Almost genuine. Zim studies him strangely.  _

_ “What?” _

_ “It looks like you got tangled up in your own wires in there,”  _

_ For the sake of his own sanity, he constructs the image of a frantic Zim laser-blasting wires wrapped around his ankles like jungle snakes. _

_ Zim’s eye twitches. “Are you absolutely mad? Zim did not-” he falters and holds his forehead, sighing. For an instant, the tension slips out of him. “Foolish as ever,” _

_ “Can I at least see where you’re bleeding?” _

_ Zim’s expression hardens. “My condition is no concern of yours, human-” _

_ “You look really hurt, Zim,” he draws forward. _

_ Instantly, Zim jolts back, “Don’t come near me! Don’t forget you’re miles from your own kind here, if I wanted to kill you no one would find you,” _

_ “You don’t look like you could kill me if you wanted to,” _

_ Dib realizes, immediately, it’s the wrong thing to say. Zim’s expression grows cold and he snarls, taking a quick step forward- but slips in his own blood. When his PAK legs try to right him, they miss, too, and he barely catches himself on one knee. _

_ It’d be funny if Dib didn’t feel like he was watching a train fall car-by-car into a ravine, slow and heavy. “Zim-” _

_ “D-do not doubt me, insolent- h..human, I-” a ragged cough “- could disembowel you as easily as ever-” he tries to catch his breath but sounds sort of like he wants to cough up his own spooch, or whatever he calls his stupid organs. He spits blood in a thick, fuschia colored gob in front of him. It sorta looks like cough medicine. “I-I thought I demanded you.. L-leave my... base-” _

_ “I’m ignoring you,” Dib’s voice softens. Zim grips his side, and blood wells up between his fingers.  _

_ “Do not mock me, human,” Zim sounds defeated.  _

_ “I’m not mocking you, I want to help you-” _

_ “I don’t WANT your HELP, Dib, now get AWAY-” he swipes at him, furious, and flinging his weight forward. Dib dodges easily, and Zim’s balance is thrown off; he collapses miserably face-first onto the floor. When he tries to climb up, he’s only writhing in his own blood. His breathing is thick and labored. The smell chokes the air. _

_ Dib swallows.  _

_ With his back finally to him, Dib can see the light of Zim’s PAK is a very dull red. _

_ “Zim?” _

_ Silence. Every breath Zim takes is wet and ragged. _

_ Dib kneels beside him, blood soaking the knees of his jeans. _

_ “Do no..t tou..ch Zim…” Zim’s voice is so quiet Dib hardly catches it. There’s no ire there, not even a feigned threat. Dib weighs his luck, leans into the optimism that Zim’s PAK is weak enough to  _ not  _ shish-ka-bob him right here, and grabs either side of Zim’s waist.  _

_ Gingerly, he turns Zim over. Zim’s breath hitches when his palm squeezes the crooked angles of Zim’s rib cage. _

_ Two bones, in particular, feel looser than they should be and he wrenches his hands away for a moment in apologetic worry. The smell of Irken blood makes his eyes water now. Dib wonders how on Earth a creature Zim’s size even has the capabilities to bleed this much. He reaches for the hem of Zim’s tunic (apologizing as he does) and carefully tugs it up. _

_Zim’s uniform comes in four parts, not counting the gloves and boots. Waist-high leggings, a leotard like body piece, and then a long-sleeved, high collared pink thing over_ that, _before completing with his tunic._ _Dib knows he should cut all this away - there’s so much blood, he’s suddenly unsure where the worst wound is - and how many there might be._

_ Again, the silence rings in his ears. Zim’s injuries look self-defensive, and the room behind him is trashed. It occurs to Dib, slowly, that there might be a xenomorphic-monstrosity lurking within the base, something so violent even Zim had had his hands full.  _

_ “... Here is your ch-..chance feeble... earth-worm,” _

_ Zim has been swaying in and out of consciousness, eyes fluttering and mouth occasionally moving as if to speak. _

_ “What?” Dib is hardly paying attention to the words coming out of Zim’s mouth, hyper-aware of every creak and groan the base makes. “Why isn’t this healing itself?” _

_ “Y-you’ve always- … Wished to - what stupid word is i-it? … Dialect Zim?” _

_ “What the fuck are you -” Dib pauses to look at Zim’s face, who is blinking fuzzily up at the ceiling. His breaths have become shallower, shallower, shallower. _

_ “Do you mean dissect-” Dib begins, before movement on the floor catches his eyes. He gasps - but finds it’s just the puddle of blood. Growing. _

_ Suddenly, he’s scrambling to get Zim into his arms. Dib nearly trips on his PAK legs which unfurl beneath him like needles attached to thin thread. It’s only now that Dib notices that one is halfway detached as if someone has tried to tear it out of socket. _

_ He spins to face the medical bays. _

  
  


\----

  
  


There was a sort of clothesline that Gir’s head got caught on when Dib burst into the alleyway Zim’s little dot blinked within. Dib didn’t have time to warn him and he figured Gir wouldn’t hold that against him. Dib ducked, hands over his head, and heard Gir scream happily as the clothesline caught him, swinging. A second later and Gir crashed onto the ground.

“DO IT AGAIN!” He cried

Dib came to a jogging halt. His boots scraped along the black concrete, kicking a can forward. It clattered ahead. 

Far, at the other end of the alleyway,  _ away  _ from the ship, was Zim’s hunched figure. One hand felt the wall of the alleyway, gloves soaked from the water that ran down its length. The other appeared to be wrapped around his middle.

His steps were slow.

The buildings above swayed close enough together that it was dangerously darker here than other spaces had been. 

“Zim, you asshole! Hey!” Dib yelled after him. " _ Zim!”  _ He didn’t have time to recognize the first stirrings of something amiss - these thoughts shelved themselves away for later. He was close enough now to only halfway notice the way Zim’s PAK blinked a magenta that was fading to a darker, emergency red. “Where the hell have  _ you been..!?” _

Six feet of distance was what it took for Zim’s antennae to finally register Dib’s footsteps. They shot up as Zim spun. He took three hurried steps back to place more distance between them, arms going up in the defense, gasping, looking everywhere, before his glazed over eyes met Dib’s. For an instant, he squinted - then recognition flooded them with color.

Zim’s mouth twisted into a frown. The shadows cast from the buildings overhead made his eyes glow. “Dib-human! What are you doing here?!”

Gir rushed past Dib to collide into Zim’s legs, hugging them tightly. “I MISSED THAT BOY SO MUCH!”   
“Do you know what I’ve been through looking for you!”

Zim arched a hairless brow, lifting a leg to pry Gir off. Gir climbed up his arm and onto his back. “Why were you looking for Zim?”

But Dib was already in a rant. One trait among their _many_ similarities. “You know, I’m sick to death of you keeping me out of like ninety percent of what goes on with you! I’m not saying I’m entitled to your entire goddamn backstory, Zim, but you - you- you are _involved_ in my life, UNFORTUNATELY, and you bring me on these trips and you express whatever Irken word for _affection-_ _no, shut up,_ do _not_ interrupt me! - whatever Irken equivalent for friendship or- … or whatever that is! And maybe that’s just how it is with you guys, I don’t know, I wouldn't be shocked if decency wasn’t in your gene pool - but there’s so much shit you don’t _fucking tell me-_ and maybe I wouldn’t be so pissed if you hadn’t _also_ failed to explain, on a planet seemingly crawling with people _looking for you,_ that you’re on the galaxy’s most wanted list!” His face was hot and his hands were thrown up in the air. He paused. “... And hey. Where were you going?” 

“What are you talking about, earth-monkey? I am returning to my ship, duh,”

Behind Zim, Gir hopped off his back and flopped into a puddle, then scrambled into a pile of crates, boxes, and debris. Dib might’ve heard the squeal of dying, alien rats within. 

Dib jutted a thumb behind him. “Your ship is that way, moron,”

Zim scowled. “Are you calling Zim a  _ liar? _ ”

“Uh, yeah,”

Zim squinted at him, then peered over his shoulder, leaning on unsteady tiptoes. “... Is the ship really in that direction?”

Dib blinked. “What? Zim, don’t you have a map in your PAK?”

Zim crossed his arms. “Don’t need it. I have an excellent sense of direction.”

“Uhh-huh,” 

Dib was about to doubt this claim when Zim’s antennae bounced up, just an inch - and suddenly, he was coming quickly forward out of the darkness. Instinct made Dib step back but Zim was deceptively fast and he raised himself on PAK legs and met Dib’s line of sight. He was squinting hard at Dib’s face as two gloved claws came up to touch either side of Dib’s jaw, strategically above the mask.

Zim’s gloves were soaked, but a living heat pulsed beneath them.

This close, Dib could see the dew of sweat that clung to his skin, how it darkened portions of his uniform, especially the collar. There was a dark bruise along the side of his forehead. A smear of fuschia near the corner of his mouth made it look like he’d been hit, although Dib didn’t see any breaks in the skin.

When Irken’s lost color, the effect was frightening. The whiteness to Zim’s skin clashed violently with the glowing, bloody red of his eyes.

Dib thought he looked sick.

Zim tilted Dib’s head, leaning closer. “I did not do this to you.” One finger angled up to touch one of the bloody spots left behind by the yellow-eyed alien. Dib would’ve flinched back if Zim hadn’t touched him like he was trying to balance an egg on his fingernails. There was no sensation of pain. This close, it was easier to tell when Zim was meeting his eye and when he wasn’t. Right now, he was looking him directly in the eye. “Who did this?” 

He had no mirror to tell, but the hot pain forming around his right eye felt like the beginnings of a dark bruise.

Dib swallowed and angled his head back out of Zim’s grasp. This just left his neck bare and suddenly too exposed, and muscle memory made that position frightening. Dib took a step back and Zim’s hands kept in the air, like he was still there. 

“You wanna tell me why you brought us here, Zim?”

Zim blinked. “What do you mean?” 

He had almost forgotten he was supposed to be angry. “Are you seriously going to play coy with me right now?”

Zim’s expression was of pure confusion. “Zim is not - … Koi- why are you being so rude?”

“Let’s see,” Dib began counting on his fingers, “what was it? Twenty counts of theft, collusion with the enemy, lying about your PAK ID or whatever- and fucking  _ four counts of assassination!  _ Zim, why didn’t you tell me about any of this, I might’ve treated this stupid planet a bit more seriously! You’re like a walking target!”

Zim squinted at him as if he couldn’t keep up. “Wh… Assassination-” he shook his head, antennae flattening against his skull, eyes narrowing. “What are you going on about, human?”  
“You’re _wanted_ for like- _so much shit!”_

_ “So much shit!”  _ Gir shrieked, his head popping out of the debris.

Zim massaged his temples, “ _ Enough _ , enough shouting. And it isn't four counts, it's only two. I recall instructing you to remain on the ship-”

“Why, so you could fuck around doing God knows what? You totally ditched me! It’s been three hours, Zim!”

Zim stiffened. “You lie! It has  _ not  _ been three-”

Dib dug out his phone and held it out for Zim to see. Zim leaned forward, expression unreadable. “And I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the past, I don’t know - thirty minutes..! And you’ve completely ignored me!”

“More lies,” Zim said uncertainly, “you’ve sent me nothing,”

“Yes he diiid!” Gir cried. Angrily, Dib rummaged through his messages, held that up next, didn’t notice that the messages still ran as  _ unread,  _ supposedly. Zim shook his head, swiping the phone away. His other arm returned to his middle as if in pain.

“First, you ditch me at the ship, then I go to look for you because I’m actually  _ worried- _ ”

“Worried?” Zim’s voice rose, incredulous. His PAK legs lowered him to the ground. “Why on  _ Irk  _ were you worried about Zim?” 

A heat burned in Dib’s face. He thought of Zim cradling his jaw, angling to see where it hurt. 

(once, before he dropped out, Dib had been jumped in the darkness of the university parking lot after a particularly late evening class. Two days later, he’d visited Zim in his base, and even those old bruises had made Zim bristle. He’d demanded to know the names of the assailants, their faces, their addresses. Dib could remember the way Zim touched over old bruises with a sort of bitter reverence. Against a particularly purple bruise across Dib’s forehead, Zim had leaned forward. Pressed his lips to it. When Dib had acted shocked, Zim had been so casual.  _ Do kisses not, ‘make it better’, as you earth-morons say? Is it not better now thanks to Zim?)  _

Zim snapped fingers in his face. “You are doing the glowy thing, human!”

Dib coughed, springing back into reality. He wasn’t supposed to be blushing, aching for affection Zim showed at all the wrong times. “Y-You told me that this planet was dangerous, and then I find out you haven’t told me that you’re a  _ wanted criminal- _ ”

“ _ Don’t  _ call me that-”

“- and so I thought someone had found you, or- or- I don’t know… Worse..?”

“... You thought Zim had been captured?” Zim held a hand to his chest, blinking almost innocently up at Dib.

“Well- …  _ yeah..?”  _

Zim’s eyes were wide. Then, he began to cackle.

Dib immediately dropped his hands at his sides. Something twinged in his chest, and Dib was reminded, strikingly, of standing at the front of the classroom in elementary, middle, and even hi-skool. All that work he did to prove his theories and present his evidence. All the pride in those notebooks and powerpoint presentations. He’d finish his work, put his hands behind his back and wait for applause or thoughtful nodding, or damnit, just maybe,  _ well, it  _ was  _ well researched.  _

It always ended in ear-splitting laughter.

Zim’s own laughter broke off into a dry coughing fit.

When it subsided, he wiped his eyes. “HA! Oh, human, your humor is one of your most tolerable traits.” His voice was condescending. “No, no, feeble-dirt worm, Zim could  _ never  _ be captured, wanted or NOT! There isn’t an alien that exists worthy of such a task. No, I was here for  _ other  _ errands. I said I needed material for my ship, didn’t I?”

“You did say that,’” Dib said lowly, “Only I’m certain you were lying,”

“Mm, perhaps,” Zim nodded, irritatingly casual. “Perhaps this is part of your hatching gift-”

“I could literally care less about whatever shitty surprise you think you're putting together, Zim,” a stress headache was blooming behind his eyes. The crooked, cracked view he was getting in his right eye certainly wasn’t helping.

Zim bristled. He spoke as if to spring into a full insulting monologue when a second coughing fit racked him - and Dib saw, for the first time, that there were spots of fuschia blood staining the palms of his gloves.

“... Are you hungover or some-”

They both started when Zim’s PAK spoke, it’s voice so low and mechanical, Dib couldn’t quite catch the Irken words. He didn’t even know it  _ was  _ Zim’s PAK until Gir went forward, as if under order, and poked at it. Zim immediately spun and shooed him off.

“Don’t touch that, Gir-”

Overhead, a low rumble of thunder. Dib looked up, up through the webbing of bridges and apartments and buildings overhead until he glimpsed the green-black sky. A drop of rain plopped right in the middle of his forehead.

“Can we just go home, Zim? I’m tired,”

“F-fool!” Zim hissed between coughs. “You’ve yet to appreciate the final p-part of your hatching gift! Don’t be rude! And after everything Zim has done!”

Dib rolled his eyes, slumping his shoulders. “ _ Then _ can we go?”

Zim was frowning. Dib couldn’t be bothered that Zim did appear to be a bit hurt. “Fine.” 

“... What’s this big surprise, Zim?”

Zim cleared his throat. He straightened his posture, with difficulty, took a deep breath. He was trying to appear serious - but a goofy, glee-filled grin broke into his mouth.

“Zim has been granted a second chance, human,”

Dib blinked, uncomprehending.“What?”

But Zim was already ahead of him. “Of course, it was to be expected - I  _ deserved _ it!  _ I  _ knew it was coming, what with all that I’ve done for the empire - and after so much time… But nonetheless, it’s finally come! Bygones are bygones and Zim shall not hold the excruciatingly long wait against them... My mission has been so important they didn’t even interrupt me for Impending Doom III - that began by the way! Zim shall finally be rewarded for all the work I’ve done for the empire..!” He sighed happily, hands clasped beneath his chin. Dib was staring. Staring. Zim clicked his tongue. “I brought you here so that I might show you a planet you hadn’t seen before - annnnd so that I might… Meet my Tallest’s again for thefirsttimebecausetheyhavenotforgottenemeandmymission,” 

Right away, Dib said nothing. Zim began tapping one foot nervously. He coughed. “... Congratulate Zim.”

“Wait-  _ what _ ?”

Zim rolled his eyes dramatically. “Did you ruin your pathetic eardrums, too, along the way here? I  _ said,  _ I have been given a-”

“You took a new mission?” Dib’s voice came out louder, sharper than even he had expected. Zim flinched back. It was a tiny twitch of antennae, a movement in his face, gone as soon as it was there. The bottom of his stomach felt cold. “After everything- Zim they want you _ dead! _ ” 

Zim’s expression hardened as he planted hands on his hips. “They do not want me _dead,_ if they wanted me dead then _why would they have given me a new mission?_ They contacted _me_! _ZIM!_ ” He pressed a claw to his chest. “They had me meet them - via a screen, of course, the Tallest rarely leave the Massive - in this creepy alleyway. What?” Zim asked sharply, “Is this because I left you alone? Had I brought you, you would’ve asked a hundred senseless questions! And your Irken is still too poor-”

“My Irken is  _ fine- _ ”

“- but Zim had to go alone. You really should feel honored that I'm telling you this, Dib-creature. It’s a terribly vital mission, and very secret. My original mission always has been, you know. What would the Armada do without me? … Anyway, they gave me this chip-thingy!”

Deadpan, “What does the chip do?”

Zim shifted. He was so pale… “It’ll add me to the roster for Impending Doom III, duh,”

“That’s it?”

“Yes,”

“And it- it goes -... On the ship, or the base-”

“Oh, we inserted it into my PAK right away.” Zim waved his hand again. Dib blinked. He looked Zim up and down. The sweating, the cramps, the coughing...

“They put… A chip into your PAK… Your leaders-”

“My Tallest’s-”

Dib shook his head, “The ones who tried to kill you? The ones who are demanding you be killed on the spot, Zim, they don’t even want you brought in  _ alive _ , have you seen that? You’re lucky they didn’t ask you to come here so someone could just chop you up and send your PAK back home!”

Zim’s eyes narrowed instantly. “You are acting quite  _ stupid  _ about this, human. How many times must it be explained before it sinks into your thick, pea-sized  _ brain? _ They gave me a new  _ mis-sion.  _ No one tried to  _ kill me. _ ” But he was moving like he was uncomfortable. One claw felt his forehead.

“You don’t even know what they put in your PAK, Zim, you look like you just fucking swallowed  _ lye _ -”

“I’ve no idea what that could possibly mean, Dib- _ roach,” _

“Oh, Christ, Zim, I know you’re not that  _ stupid-” _

“Zim is NOT STUPID,” he pointed at him with a trembling claw, stomping forward. “Really, Dib, I bring you to this planet, on your hatching day no less, and announce to you that I have finally been recognized for the incredible Irken I have always been after a  _ completely unjustifiable _ exile and  _ this  _ is how you respond..!! How dare you call Zim stupid! The chip will merely introduce my PAK into Impending Doom  _ III  _ once Zim has-” Zim’s antennae shot up. He stopped suddenly.

“Once you’ve…?” 

Zim cleared his throat. He was looking aside, fingers tapping together. “It is... Simply a piece of information a little too- complex for your meager monkey-brain,”

Zim was dodging something. Dib felt his skin go a little cold. “What did you agree to, Zim?”

His antennae fell just an inch before they narrowed stiffly. “None of your business, worm-”

“Are you backing off on the truce? Oh my God, Zim, after several years,  _ now  _ you decide to-”

“Silence! Zim has said nothing of the breaking of truces!”

“Then what aren’t you  _ saying?!” _

Zim tugged at his antennae, eyes squeezed shut, “ARGHH, you wouldn’t  _ get any of it,  _ human!”

“Just try me!"

Exasperated, Zim drew forward, jabbing a claw at Dib, “You have said it yourself that your planet suffers from an  _ infestation of stupidity.  _ How no other humans give the slightest indication of understanding, merely  _ recognizing _ the horror that’s lived so easily under their pathetic noses for ten years now! That they’re monkey brained  _ IMBECILES  _ unworthy of your time!  _ THINK  _ of all the times  _ you  _ were the thin sinew protecting them from absolute  _ annihilation,  _ and yet they haven’t so much as  _ thanked  _ you for it! __ You were betrayed by your own fellow peers, all the things you’ve told me of your own father-leader-unit…!” At that, Dib stiffened visibly. “Does he deserve your sympathy any longer? Do  _ any of them?  _ I have noticed the fury which comes off of you in waves, human, you do not hide it well, and you’re lucky that Zim has noticed. Seize control of your brief life, Dib! Destroy planet Earth with me,” His expression was deadly serious, one claw gripped into a fist before him. He was leaning forward like he thought Dib might draw in too, and they could conspire to be the villains Zim seemed certain they were. “We shall rule it  _ together,” _

At Dib’s sides, his fists shook. It was true he hated most people, his father included. But he wasn’t inclined toward senseless violence, at least not the kind against all of humanity. Well, maybe on a philosophical level but-

He hated how his voice cracked. “Don’t make this about me, you  _ dick.  _ You know this has all been about you,”

“Of-” Zim faltered, if only for a moment, “of course it… is about Zim…” One of his antennae kept perking up as if it heard something. Zim looked behind him, eyes narrowing on the crowd behind him “... Do… Do you hear-”

Dib laughed harshly. “ _ This  _ is part of my birthday gift? Dropping everything you’ve said so you could go back-”

Zim faced him again, and reached for his shirt desperately, “Do you understand  _ nothing?!  _ I am an Invader, it courses through my veins-”

“Like radioactive-rubber-shit, I know, yeah, you’ve told me this one, but what about the Florpus? What about what your Tallest’s said last time I saw you speak to them? The exile, all of that?  _ Remember? _ ” Zim was shaking his head, trying to speak, but Dib only raised his voice louder, “You’re going back to  _ them _ ? What about that time you disappeared, you came back looking like someone had beat the  _ shit  _ out of you-”

Zim was still reaching. “You know nothing of the Tallest’s  _ or  _ of that evening-”

Ire raised up in the middle of his chest - it always felt so cold. “Because you wouldn’t  _ tell me,  _ Zim! I asked! I was there to help you, and you wouldn’t take it!” He shoved Zim back, and the Irken stumbled, stamping into a puddle. Zim stared at the filthy water, then looked up, snarling.

“I shouldn’t be rotting away on that miserable planet of yours, away from every other Irken, without a mission,  _ a purpose!  _ Do you think I  _ enjoy  _ wasting precious time with- with  _ you  _ every single day! I wasn’t  _ meant  _ to waste away so far from Irk, I was sent to conquer your people and your planet, to prepare it for the empire. Your planet  _ disgusts me  _ in ways you could never comprehend, your insipid belief that I’d ever ‘ _ settle down’  _ on your desolate excuse for a planet is based in complete delusion. It’s - it’s completely -” Zim sputtered. “Irken’s do not  _ settle down!”  _ He was breathing hard- Dib was staring back at him aghast. He stepped out of the puddle, trudged toward Dib again eyes sharp and glaring knives. “The galaxy would not miss you or your planet if it winked out of existence, in fact, half the universe would  _ thank me for it!”  _ His voice had ratcheted up viciously - and then suddenly, some sort of clarity or reminder reoccurred to Zim, and, as if embarrassed, he drew back, looking aside. “... And when your planet is eviscerated by, say, a massive death ray aimed from the moon or an asteroid,” he waved a hand, “youandyoursisterunitwouldbespared…”

This must’ve felt like a confession of sorts to Zim because he immediately blushed and looked aside, fingers tapping anxiously together, and suddenly, Dib didn’t care how little Zim looked or how pale he was. 

He didn’t even have to say anything. In a rare moment of  _ reading the room,  _ Zim’s face fell. “ _ Whaaat?! _ What more did you want?! Did you want your father unit included? I thought-” again, the antennae twitching, Zim glancing behind him, “- do you not  _ hear  _ all of that racket, human-”

“I don’t want any of that! God, ten years of all this fucking nonsense, and you still act like you’ve got less than half a brain! You’re so stupid, Zim!” The headache was full-blown now. He felt tired. “We can’t do anything, can we? You’re like this all the time! Just once, I just wanted - …” He sighed, exasperated, voice softening if only because his throat was beginning to feel a little raw from all the yelling. “... I just- I wanted tonight to be fun! My dad and I-” he stopped, choking off, and something in Zim’s expression darkened, “- … had a fight, and it - it was awful, and you- you can only be- …  _ Good  _ for so long, you can’t even try for longer than an hour, I don’t know. You make promises you can never keep-”

“What  _ promises?”  _ Zim narrowed his eyes and Dib shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. 

“Th-the truce, thing, you promised-”

_ “You forced Zim’s hand _ !” Zim’s voice cracked unexpectedly. 

Weakly, “What the hell are you talking about?”

Zim was leaning one hand against the wall as if to steady himself. He laughed dryly. “So now the Dib-beast is being  _ ‘coy’ _ . Did you think I would never find out? You waited-” he lumbered forward, pointing at Dib, “until I was vulnerable. You must’ve guessed the empire tests us well. You waited until I was weak. You knew I would have no choice but to rely on you, you tried to act so kind! I am not blind! I can see all the strings you’ve attached - you’ll whittle me down until you can finally have the upper hand. But Zim is not your puppet to be tugged along _!  _ Even now, you think your pathetic worm-baby tears would move me, but an Invader isn’t so easily fooled! I’ve known. I’ve known this entire time, and Zim can be patient, too. Do you know what I am, human? The things Zim has done?  _ And you wanted me to make promises with you?” _

He was dumbfounded. “Y-you asshole, that wasn’t it at all-”

“LIAR! Yes it was!”

“I was trying to  _ help you _ -”

_ “LIES! QUIT LYING! You would never help Zim-” _

_ “Why  _ are you like this all the time!?”

Zim snarled and began to shout back, when as if a switch within him had been turned, he stiffened, clapped a hand over his mouth - then stumbled to the right to vomit onto the ground. In the nasty mix of stomach acid and what he’d drunk at the bar, Dib spotted the darkness of fuschia.

He scowled as Zim gasped. 

He understood heartache and loneliness and what it was to be ostracized. He knew the crater-sized hole it had made in him, what it undoubtedly had made in Zim, too.

Dib also knew it made him vicious.

Almost affectionately soft, Dib said, “Was this what you wanted? Just business as usual as Irk’s  _ finest invader.  _ How’s it working out so far?”

Zim glared at him, arms wrapped around his middle. “Sh-shut up,”

“What are you doing for your great leaders this time? They ask if they could melt your insides out or something?”

“Stop it,”

“I bet they’re laughing,”

“ _ Enough,” _

“They’re probably deactivating you right now. Maybe it’s getting broadcasted. An example for the rest,” Zim’s eyes were wild with fury. “You’re not gonna rot on  _ earth,  _ you’re gonna rot on this nasty, backwater planet, and no one’s gonna bat an  _ eye.” _

With every word that came out, somewhere deep in his consciousness Dib knew he’d regret it. Every instinct was begging him to  _ stop  _ but he just had to dig the knife in deeper. With every internal warning, heartache shoved back.  _ Zim doesn’t feel anything. Zim doesn’t feel anything. Not for me or anyone else. _

_ I don’t feel anything either. _

All around them came the  _ pap… pap.. Pap. Pap. Pap-pap-pappappappap _ of rapidly falling rain. Thunder rolled overhead. Zim stared, his eyes wide.

“... At least, then, they’ve come to watch,” Deceptively gentle, Zim’s voice was the breath of a whisper. He steadied himself slowly. “ _ Yours _ cannot be bothered to remember to give you the time of day,” Dib froze. Zim examined his claws as if to find a broken nail. “How often does your- what is he again? It seems his title has slipped my mind…  _ Biologically _ , he’s your father-unit, yes? But even  _ I  _ know poor parental skills when I see them,”

_ Biologically.  _

“Poor, sad,  _ neglected Dib.  _ If Zim had a heart, it would break for you. Irkens are loyal unto death, but where we are strong, humans are fickle. Your planet is split into a shmillion pathetic nations where Irk is one. Your own people devour each other like primitive slime-beasts. You may critique the Irken empire’s use of its Invaders when you can show Zim proof humans have any semblance of such loyalty or-”

Dib raised his fist and punched Zim in the jaw as hard he could.

Zim was thrown to the right. His boots scuffed on the ground and two PAK legs flew out to sink into the black concrete and bring him to an unsteady stop. Dib watched him go down.

Zim whipped to face him, still halfway to his knees. He touched the spot on his jaw, a bruise already forming. “How  _ dare- _ ”

“If I didn’t know you act worst when you know you’re losing, I’d be kicking the shit out of you right now. And you’re PAK wouldn’t be able to help you, since it already seems to be doing a number,” Dib spat. He pointed, a hundred insults coming and going, zipping past his mind's eye. “I’m going to leave you here in this disgusting alleyway to die of organ failure, I’m going to take your ship, and I’m burning your goddamn base to the ground.”

Zim was staring up at him. He hadn't gotten up yet - perhaps, might not even be able to. Fury and hurt made his face hot. Dib didn’t quite realize the lump forming in his throat or the sting in the corners of his eyes or the threat that that sting threatened to spill over. Zim opened his mouth, then closed it. Said nothing. 

Dib turned away, breathing deep, lifting up his glasses to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes. He scrubbed with the sleeves of his jacket.

In all of the excitement, he’d forgotten the dim blue lighting of his father’s labs, and all the vats lined up one by one by one. They’d reminded Dib of Zim's lab, but there was a sterility there, a lack of personality one could say.

All the figures in those vats. Black hair and those strange amber-colored eyes.

_ “You are the third attempt. I know you’re unhappy, so consider this a second chance. Well. Technically third. Few others have such privilege, you know,” _

When he squeezed his fists, they still stung. Of course they did- it’d only been a few hours since-

Behind him, Dib heard Gir’s feet ping-ping-pinging up to Zim. He rushed around him as if to fiddle with his PAK. “Master! This says your backpacks all funny!” Gir held up a tablet from his chest, waving it in Zim’s face. 

Zim’s voice was weak. “Th-this is just a- s-small side effect,”

“This says it’s nooooot-”

“Go  _ away,  _ Gir... No, Gir, wait, do not-”

Behind Dib, Gir’s pinging was advancing on him. The robot rushed to stand in front of him. In the darkness of the alleyway, his eyes were overbright and almost  _ warm  _ despite their color. He held the tablet up to Dib, smiling.

Irken interfaces were obnoxiously busy. On the screen, several images were shifting, and the jagged Irken text blinking red.  _ WARNING  _ scrolled continuously at the top of the screen. The most important text that flashed read:

_ NERVOUS AND SQUEEDILYSPOOCH SYSTEM COMPROMISED _

_ FOREIGN SUBSTANCE DETECTED IN BLOODSTREAM AND CRANIAL LOBE _

_ PAK ID DISCREPANCY DETECTED _

_ SEEK MEDICAL BAY IMMEDIATELY _

_ CONTACT CONTROL BRAINS FOR IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE _

Numbly, Dib stared down at the tablet. At his feet, Gir was looking up at him expectantly. 

“Master won’t listen,”

Dib pushed the tablet aside. “What makes you think  _ I  _ should care?”

Gir blinked, uncomprehending. His smile never wavered…

  
  
  
  


_ The medical bays are all in emergency mode, power withstanding despite the state of the base. As soon as he throws open one of the glass doors, it’s gurney folds out long ways, lights along the side clicking on. A screen comes down from within, blinks to life. _

_ He’s totally manhandling Zim. He’s sure that'll earn him a snap or two later, but for now, he hardly notices, jerking Zim’s body to lie on his back, then his side as Dib realizes he needs a PAK connection.  _

_ A screen appears, reads the word LOGGING. It sits for several agonizingly long seconds until the words, CANNOT CONNECT TO HQ. PASSCODE? appear. _

_ Dib blinks. He has no idea what this means or what the passcode might be. He tries 12345 if only because Zim is dumb enough to make a passcode in a highly secretive Irken military base something so simple, but of course, he isn’t  _ that  _ stupid. The passcode fails. Three more attempts make panic swell up in his stomach and he punches the screen and shots, “Just work  _ damnit,  _ he’s dying!” _

_ Something crashes behind him, and he cries out, turning- _

_ Gir’s cyans eyes rush up to him and he says, “Master didn’t tell me he was takin’ a nap! But now you’re here - and I haven’t made any snacks-” _

_ “Gir, the passcode, I need this to work-” _

_ “Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-MONKEY!” _

_ “Wh- what-?” _

_ “THE PASSCODE!”  _

_ It all catches up with him and Dib punches the passcode in as Gir climbs onto the gurney, smiling, to watch. Dib is distantly aware that Gir is explaining what he would have baked had he known Dib was coming, but he doesn’t follow any of it.  _

_ The screen says LOGGING. Then, ASSIST PAK IN RECOVERY MODE? _

_ Dib presses for YES. The wires he’s connected to Zim’s PAK illuminate like bioluminescent snakes, glowing magenta. He glances at Gir. _

_ Had the robot been in the rafters this entire time? It was useless to chase reason with Gir, but - why? He’s giggling now but Dib wonders if, moments ago, he’d been too afraid of Zim’s uncharacteristic anger earlier to make an appearance. Maybe it’s Zim who’s made a mess of his control room. _

_ He looks back at Zim. He’s filthy with blood and sweat. Dib knows his PAK will do the majority of the surgical work but he can’t help but imagine being stuck with bloody clothes is great for the healing process.  _

_ “Gir, go get me scissors,” _

_ “OK!” A sort of swiss-army-multi-took pack appears from Gir’s head, and among them Dib snatches a pair of glittering scissors. _

_ They’d kiddie scissors, plastic and pink, but there’s no time to argue. _

_ He cuts Zim’s tunic away. His clothes are soaked with sweat and blood. Dib works mechanically. Unhooks the leggings from Zim’s hips and shucks them away, cuts the black bodysuit and slices the shirt away, throwing the gloves aside, too. He makes a pile of dirty clothes and kicks them aside. Finds a cabinet where he fights with the mechanical door, nearly ripping it from its hinges. It’s stocked with cloth and gauze, tape, and what might be an Irken-equivalent of sterile wipes. He orders Gir to return with clothes he might later change Zim into. _

_ His mind is too focused on wiping the blood away for his thoughts to wander, though he does ogle at the strange smooth texture of Zim’s skin, the way bones poke and protrude like they wish to break skin. The gash on his side which is slowly mending, tiny, lice-like organisms working frantically at sewing the flesh back together, is red and raw. Dib leans forward, see’s tissue, muscle - and the gleam of what might be an organ, bruise-purple, and squished between tissue.  _

_ Once the blood is gone, Gir holds proudly up, a new black bodysuit, this one complete with its own leggings and long sleeves that hook around Zim’s thumbs like half-gloves. He’s so light, maneuvering Zim into the clothes is no problem. Still, Dib is as careful and elegant as he can possibly be. _

_ The screen in the medical bay blinks a new message: _

_ PAK TEMPORARILY STABILIZED. TOTAL PAK & HOST RECOVERY COMPLETION 23% _

_ Zim’s breathing has evened out. _

_ The night passes strangely. Gir helps Dib hide the clothes away. Together, they clean blood from the floor and his hands. He peers into the control room, but a wire sparks and it makes his heart leap into his throat and so he stays by the gurney.  _

_ He stays all night, and into the next day. Gir tells him stories, and Dib thinks he’s peppered in details of the last few evenings in between tales of ground-beef unicorns and talking tacos. Zim might’ve been kidnapped. The base might’ve been swarmed by other Irkens. The computer might’ve been given a virus. _

_ On the cold floor, Dib asks, “Did any of the other Irkens-” he clears his throat. “I mean. Taco lords… Stay?” _

_ “No,” Gir shakes his head, conspiratorial. “Watched ‘em all leave myself. I hide up there!” He points up at the rafters he’d fallen from. “I was so lonely!” _

_ Zim is a fitful sleeper. Dib wonders if this is a stubbornness at, in his memory, having never slept before. Even comatose, his mind is wary and restless - there are things to be done, plans to curate. _

_ Dib sits with his knees drawn to his chest when Gir becomes bored and goes to play elsewhere. He wonders where Zim’s been. Who put the hole in his side and who made him so scared. He wonders how hard Zim fought. He wonders if his leaders have anything to do with it. _

_ Throughout the night and into the next day, Zim mutters in his sleep. His voice is weak, frightened, small. His fingers twitch. He says things like, enough. Stop. Stop, please stop. Irken words Dib can’t quite catch. When his fingers clench into tight fists, Dib uncurls the fingers gently, one at a time. Strokes the knuckles until they relax. Holds his wrist and feels how the pulse quickens then slows then quickens again. Listens to him beg in his sleep. For his life? Dib isn’t sure. He didn’t even know Irkens could dream, let alone suffer nightmares. _

_ Once, when Zim’s fingers clench again and Dib unfurls them, he holds onto a finger. And Zim twitches, eyes fluttering - and his claws intertwine with Dib’s and squeeze- _

  
  
  


He didn’t want to be nice, he didn’t want to help, but he was equally horrified by his willingness to let that night play out again right here in this putrid alleyway. 

_ He deserves this. _

He bit down hard on his tongue. Against all his wishes, Dib turned, snatching the tablet. Zim jolted back like he’d only now realized the human had been there.

Gir clapped his hands together. “ _ Yaaaay!” _

Dib waved the tablet, “This says you’re dying, so you can come with me back to the ship or sit here and rot,”

Zim stared, then looked up, squinting at the rain. He flinched when a drop struck his eye. It steamed. He held out a hand. A drop plopped onto his palm, hissing as it mixed with Irken blood. He stared at his gloved hand.

“Zim?”

His antennae popped up. He looked up, tilting his head, then spun and faced behind again. Dib angled his head in the direction Zim was looking. Had he been hearing something Dib could not?

“Zim! Hey!”

“Eh?” Zim jerked his head in Dib’s direction.

“You’ve five seconds to come with me or I’m leaving you here,”

Zim just stared and stared. He seemed to be looking at a space over Dib’s shoulder, then at something between them. He didn’t move. 

Dib ground his teeth.  _ Goddamnit…  _

He trudged forward, grumbling a string of violent insults and curses. He grabbed Zim by the wrist, felt the bones grind beneath thin, sweating, hot skin. He yanked him forward and he fell into Dib’s chest like he was made of air.

“There’s a medical bay in the ship-”

Immediately, Zim’s body stiffened. He spasmed wildly, twisting to slip away.

“Will you fucking  _ quit it-” _

Zim slashed at him.

It tore through his fingerless gloves, bleeding immediately across the top of his hand. Dib hissed, cradling it, jerking away. Zim scurried backwards, hugging himself, teeth bared.

His eyes were wide with terror, like a cornered, dying animal. 

“What the fuck, Zim-”

“ _ No,”  _ Zim’s voice was strange, “No,  _ no, nonono no! Zim should be finished!  _ There’ve been  _ no mistakes,  _ this miserable planet should be a charred wasteland and yet,” he was glancing frantically around as in the middle of a dialogue with persons unseen. He was swaying, gasping… Then he seemed to zone out, holding his forehead. He muttered something in Irken, swayed to the side. “You cannot be this- this angry with Zim, I-” His fingers twitched then went down to fiddle with the hem of his tunic. 

It was such an old gesture of anxiety, one Dib hadn’t seen in  _ months.  _ He didn’t notice how the rain was falling faster, running to gather along the lines of his mask.

Maybe Zim was right - maybe he’d always been weak and pathetic. After everything Zim had said and done, concern was still climbing up Dib’s spine like a spider.

“Zim, this isn't funny-”

Zim jerked his head up, eyes focusing and unfocusing, “Wh… Where is this place, where-” his eyes found Dib and he stumbled back, chest heaving, “ _ where have you brought Zim!? _ Where are we? Gir! Where are our disguises - the human c-can’t know- Gir?!” He clapped hands over his eyes, shouting, “The eyes,  _ the eyes-  _ Enough, ENOUGH,  _ enoughenoughenough,  _ I’ve done what I was told, my Tallest’s,  _ please-!” _ The heel of his boot caught on a hunk of crooked metal. He fell backward and tried to crawl back. “No! No, no, don’t touch me!”

All this Dib watched dumbfounded. Beside him, Gir said something about Zim sounding like a howler-monkey. Zim rambled on and on, eyes searching wildly for foes Dib couldn’t find. He coughed and gripped his middle in terror, grew sick again. His voice weakened. 

“My Tallest’s please - just- let Zim f-...finished th...the mission will be-... complete, the human-... you mustn’t-” he trailed off. Fell to his knees. Collapsed into a heap.

The whole spectacle had lasted perhaps a minute. Gir stared, too, before the trance broke and the robot ran forward. He climbed onto Zim’s back and tried to sit crisscross, until the hammering in Dib’s head registered as a frightened heartbeat. 

He rushed forward to pluck Gir off of Zim. “ _ Don’t do that, he won’t be able to breathe..!”  _

Zim’s PAK was flashing a rapid red. He plucked Zim’s wrist up and felt for a pulse.

_ Fast _ , way too fast, like a bird battering a shrinking cage.

Dib turned around, toward where they’d come from. The alleyway there was narrow, tight. He’d come so far, he wasn’t even sure how far away the ship was from here, and while Zim wasn’t heavy he didn’t think it’d be easy to carry him over debris and squeeze through tunnels created by garbage.

“Gir, what are the coordinates of the ship from here..!?”

The map appeared, displaying a new purple dot signifying the ship. It turned out, Zim hadn’t been entirely wrong. There was a twist of streets in the direction he’d been walking that would lead to a sort of intersection they could turn on, without all the hassle of narrow alleyways and corridors. The ship was at least a fifteen-minute walk from here. 

But the way Zim had been heading… Dib looked up. He could see over a pile of debris and another metal dumpster. The crowd.

There wasn’t any time to try to act subtle. Crowd or not, they’d gotten this far on the planet and as far as he knew, no one had noticed.  _ Unless someone's waiting now…  _

_ Fuck it.  _

Zim still had his purple cowl, draped uselessness on his shoulders, hood tugged down. Dib would use it as a blanket, wrapping it around the Irken. He’d gather Zim up, and take them all back to the ship. Hook Zim up to the medical bay and fly them home. Zim’s base could take care of the rest.

_ Or you could just leave him here. _

Zim had found the cracks and seams of too many of Dib’s worst anxieties, wrenching them open to bleed like he thought it was  _ fun _ . Granted, Zim had always been good at that. Granted  _ also,  _ Dib was not innocent in that department himself. Looking at his crumpled form from here, it was too easy to feel nothing but ire. Zim was so cold. And utterly defeated. God, he was so  _ stupid! _

He should’ve known it would reach this point. Zim’s delusions of grandeur had nearly killed him in the past. His one hundred walls of denial and faux self-confidence were thick, but not endless. They would have had to come down eventually. Dib should’ve figured it would have killed him in the process

_ Killed him. Killed him.  _

  
  
  


_ A second passes. For the first time in hours, Zim’s eyes crack open and focus on Dib. _

_ “You,” his voice is a rasp, “Why… Why are you still here…? I don’t -... I don’t wan..t you...here…” Dib checks his forehead, finds it burning up. His fingers trace down to Zim’s neck for a pulse. It flutters beneath his skin like a frightened rabbit. _

_ Zim twitches but can do nothing. According to the screen overhead, the medical bay has only just now finished with whatever work had to be done in his immune system. Now at 31%. _

_ “I saved your life,” _

_ “Lies…” _

_ “Well. Gir  _ did  _ help.” Dib looks at their hands. Zim is still squeezing. _

_ His eyelids flutter and he murmurs something in Irken. “Where is this..?”  _

_ “Your base.” _

_ “... My base?” _

_ “Yep,” _

_ Zim’s breathing hitches. “They - they came here- the base i-is still down, I have to patch up th-the security- breaches, they’ll-” _

_ “Relax,” Dib puts a hand on Zim’s chest as he moves to sit up. “Relax, Zim, no one’s coming,” Technically, he doesn’t know this. Technically, they could be here now, whoever  _ ‘they’  _ are, winding down into the base to finish what they’d started.  _

_ “I promise no one’s coming.” Dib says firmly. Zim’s eyes are wide on him. His mouth quivers. _

_ “Stupid Dib… You c-can promise - … no such thing,” _

  
  
  


_ Wait. _

On the ground, Zim’s hand twitched. Twitching in the fingers, one, two, three, then a palm pushing itself against the dirty ground. Water and blood dripped from his brow from where he’d fallen halfway into a puddle. Dib grimaced.

Zim lifted himself onto his palms. He didn’t look up. He stared, stared, at his reflection in the puddle.

Dib cleared his throat, “Are you done acting crazy?”

Zim’s antennae twitched, moved in Dib’s direction. He angled his head up, still holding himself up on his palms, to see him. His eyes were cloudy, mouth stupidly half-open. 

“Come on, get up.”

Dib stood, and walked past Zim into the direction Zim had been walking. Over the debris, he saw the crowd had actually begun to thin, if only a little bit, ducking under awnings and beneath bridges, into doorways and alleyways where the buildings leaned close enough to provide shelter. 

He turned to face Zim. “Look, we don’t-”

Zim was standing now, and facing him. He hadn’t heard him move. Pinkish tinged drool was running from his mouth, mixing with the rain that was soaking him. One hand struck out, caught the wall, nails digging to hold himself steady, all the while eyes trained on Dib. He didn’t look angry, or sad. Hurt. Confused. He was completely blank. He didn't look like anything.

He didn’t look like  _ Zim. _

Somewhere, a voice was speaking but Dib was so caught up watching Zim he couldn’t quite place where it was coming from.

“Yaaay!” Gir clapped his hands beside Dib, “What a quick nap!” 

His antennae were crumpled as if drenched. If he heard Gir, he gave no indication. He stepped forward haltingly. His mouth snapped shut, then twisted, then he bared teeth, skin stretching. 

“Zim, l-look, whatever the problem is could you just tell me-”

As Zim drew closer, the voice grew louder-

A robotic voice.

Dib froze.

_ “Reactivating. Seek medical bay immediately. Reactivating- seek additional information- error. Error. Error. Discrepancy in PAK Identification. Seek Medi- Error. Error.” _

Zim’s  _ PAK. _

“Zim-”

“ _ Error-”  _ Zim lurched closer,  _ “Reactivating- Reactivating- React- Reactiva- Reactivating-R-Reac-”  _ Zim’s PAK sputtered out Irken commands in frantic succession. Dib had the sense to step backward.

  
  
  
  


_ He’s stroking the side of Zim’s face.  _

_ “You can’t promise that,” Zim squeaks again, “They’ll come back. I have to stop them, they’ll come back. I don’t want to go back, I-” his eyes wander the ceiling. _

_ “Hey,” Dib’s voice is soft, low. As comforting as he can make it. “You don’t have to go anywhere,” _

  
  
  
  
  


Zim’s PAK legs struck out and lifted him suddenly high. The lights along the legs were bright red. A steady stream of steam rose from his PAK.

“Zim? Zim, please - can you- can you hear me right now?” He didn’t like how weak his voice croaked out. 

“We gonna play hide n seek again!?” Gir was suddenly sprinting from Dib’s side toward Zim. Dib dipped to catch him. His fingertips brushed the robot, then Gir was hopping over puddles, out of reach.

“Gir  _ wait-” _

  
  
  
  


_ Zim searches Dib’s face. Dib’s never seen an Irken cry before. He’s never seen  _ Zim  _ cry before, has in fact always been certain Zim  _ couldn’t  _ cry.  _

_ When the tears well up, they’re transparent fuschia, little glittering baubles. They spill over and Dib wipes them gingerly away. _

_ He squeezes Dib’s hand so hard it hurts, but everywhere else, he’s trembling. Dib bites back a grimace. _

_ “It’s alright. Relax, relax, Zim, I’m right here, it’ll be fine. I’m right here,” Zim leans into the touch, closes his eyes. “I’m here, okay? You’re fine. You’ll be fine…” _

  
  
  


“Mary’s turn to hide now!” Gir was running to climb a PAK leg.

“Gir,  _ stop-! _ ” 

Wordlessly, Zim lifted a single PAK leg and skewered Gir with it through the middle of his chest, lifting him up, up until he was dangling above Zim’s head, his lights flashing. Cyan, red, then cyan again. Gir might’ve giggled - Dib wasn’t sure, because his lights cut to black and Zim flicked him off the leg like he might sling off blood. The robot flew behind Dib and landed with a  _ CLANG.  _

Dib stumbled back, eyes wide. His heart was in his mouth. “Z-Zim, you - why-...” One knee buckled beneath him. He fell backward, looking up, watching Zim draw forward. His mind was screaming, screaming at him to run,  _ run, run get OUT _ -

Zim paused, only for a moment, fingers twitching. His glare was both pointed and completely clouded (the sterility in his father’s labs, the lack of personality, the shells, the shells, the shells of  _ himself- _ )

For some reason, Dib thought of the time he’d ruined the family computer with a virus that had  _ somehow  _ caused the monitor to explode. Before that, it hadn’t responded to any commands. Wouldn’t even turn off. He’d been grounded for a week. Not that that had compared to his sister’s wrath at not having the computer for several days. 

Zim’s PAK was still talking but Dib was bubbling with a terrified giggle at the ancient memory. Right now, would Gaz be scarier than Zim? Or would they be equals? 

Zim’s PAK crackled, a high pitched noise singing through the air. Dib cringed and clapped hands over his ears. “ _ RE-ENCODING COMPLETE. IDENTIFY YOURSELF-” _

It was like recognizing the rise and fall of someone’s chest moving, the tiniest imperceptible detail. Dib had caught on to it when they were in middle skool, had jotted it down. It carried his theory that the PAK worked muscles, was more than just nerves and brains, memories, and codes. It had to work it’s way into Zim’s body to control all that muscle and tissue, like a puppet.

_ Like a puppet. _

Everytime Zim used a PAK leg, the corresponding shoulder would twitch.

Dib had less than a second to scramble away from a PAK leg slamming into the ground where he had just been. His feet pounded the black concrete as he bolted for the alleyway opening, arms pumping. Something glittered to his left and it was instinct, some buried foolish  _ something  _ that made him duck and dip down as he ran - and gather the ruined SIR unit up off the floor and into his arms. He scrambled over the debris and burst out of the alleyway, crashing into a group of yellow, slug like aliens. They were grumbling, yelling, but he couldn’t hear a word of it, even as his translator fought to keep up with the insults. He spun around. Zim was climbing out of the alleyway like a nightmarish green spider, lifting himself over the debris, hung high over the crowd.

There wasn’t time to warn any of them. Dib ducked and a PAK leg swung and slashed through the flesh of the neck of one of the aliens directly behind him like they were cheese. Blood sprayed, pus-colored and thick. Someone in the crowd screamed as Dib crawled along the ground, stumbling up onto his feet, shoving as he went. Behind him he could hear the clicking of PAK legs. Dib dared to whip around, crushing Gir to his chest. Zim had speared a second alien, this one from the top of the head, and seemingly halfway into their green, slimey body. He slung them carelessly aside, eyes raking over the crowd. They found Dib faster than he would’ve liked, boring down at him like he was a roach that needed to be squashed.

Zim spoke in Irken, his voice entirely unfamiliar. “ _ You.” _

Dib ran _. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate fic title: Zim Goes Crazy and Stuff


	6. dead end escape routes

_ When Dib wakes up, he’s on the gurney and Zim is not. _

_ In his line of sight, everything is blurry. He can see his hand beside his head, and recognizes the discrepancy that last he saw this hand, Zim’s own was in it. He jolts up. _

_ He doesn’t even remember falling asleep. Everything is dark purple, magenta, red light; everything is blended together as if in watercolors. _

_ He can’t see, his glasses, they’re- _

_ “Relax, earth money. They’re right here,” _

_ Zim’s voice, nasally and characteristically inconvenienced, comes from behind him. Dib whips his head around in time for a smudge of green and bright magenta to lean in- and then Zim is placing his glasses carefully onto the bridge of his nose. _

_ The sugary smell of Irken blood is gone. The base is humming - although it does seem to be running on a back power supply, as much of the lights are still in Emergency Mode.  _

_ Zim crosses his arms, scowling. “Yuck. You got your acidic drool all over the place.” _

_ Dib blinks at Zim, then at where he’d been lying. A small puddle of drool. Gross indeed. “You have a  _ room,  _ you know. Three floors up?”  _

_ “Uh,” Dib shrugs, foggy. “I don’t even remember falling asleep to begin with.” _

_ Zim scoffs. The gurney beneath Dib is cold. He hadn’t fallen asleep on it, or at least, he’s certain he hadn’t. Maybe Zim, in a rare gesture of kindness, had laid him there when he’d woken up.  _

_ He’s still wearing what Dib dressed him in, and it comes back to him full force that Dib undressed him, cleaned his wounds... The thought makes him blush - he isn’t sure why. _

_ The gloves are still unaccounted for. The skin there is scarred and dark green. _

_ “It is currently three pm, human,” Zim’s tapping his foot. He must’ve found a pair of boots, his feet no longer bare. _

_ “Oh,” Dib isn’t sure what to do with this information. “Um - you look better,” _

_ Zim stares, clearly annoyed, one hairless brow arched. “Yes, of course I do,” he turns on one heel. _

_ There might be a limp in his step but Dib could be seeing things. He swings his legs over the gurney and lands with a soft thump onto the floor. Looking up and around, the lively humming and chirps of the base are so welcoming. Dib didn’t think he could bear to stay for long in a place so deadly silent. _

_ Zim has clearly been working since he woke - whenever that was. The medical bay, for one, is no longer spilling wires (Dib had pulled out a lot of connectors, unsure of what did what and what he would need). The long screen Zim uses for most communications with his leaders and other Irken’s is no longer flashing an error message, but instead “Downloading Memory Banks”. Whatever that means. Gir is on the dashboard, gripping a screen unhealthily close to his face. Dib can hear tinny, childish music emanating from it. _

_ He clears his throat, circling the room. Scratches the back of his neck. “Um. How are you feeling?”  _

_ Zim stares at him, chin raised. “Fine.”  _

_ “Uh-huh,” Dib says slowly. Zim eye twitches. _

_ “What?” _

_ “I don’t know,” Dib squints. “I guess I thought you’d tell me what last night was about. And the last four days.” _

_ Zim’s expression flickers; he looks aside, fingers on his forearms tightening. It is painfully vulnerable looking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” _

_ Like he’s talking to the world's most elusive two-year-old. Dib holds out his hands, “Well, for one, I think you almost died,” _

_ “Nonsense! Zim was merely- inhibited.” Zim turns and goes to the dashboard at the far end where a panel has been removed and the guts of the device squirm out; multicolored wires and strange discs and gears and cogs. Something about Irken technology is grossly organic-like. His PAK presents him with a sharp tool that resembled a screwdriver.  _

_ Dib watches him. “Inhibited.” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Would it kill you to let me in on it for once?” Dib sighs, dropping into a chair before the dashboard and screen. “ _ Inhibited  _ or not, Gir and I literally saved your life.” _

_ Zim pauses with what he’s doing. Straightens and faces Dib. He opens his mouth like he’s going to argue then clamps it shut.  _

_ After a moment, he says, suddenly serious: “It was a crash. Approximately four days ago, I flew my ship too close to a planet some million miles from your own, and encountered radioactive flares which I was not anticipating. Many planets do this, you know. It badly damaged my ship as well as my ships’ technology. I had no choice but to use this inferior excuse for a planet - it did not even have a  _ name,  _ merely a set of numbers - to land on, even though neither my ship nor the planet's atmosphere and weather were in  _ ANY  _ condition whatsoever for a landing.” As if embarrassed, Zim waves his hand, “Because of the stupid wind torrents on said planet, I was injured in the landing, and because of the radioactive interaction with my ship's technology, my PAK was affected, too, and unable to repair me as it usually might. After several days, I was able to repair the ship myself, but when I flew back here I had, despite my efforts, missed that the radiation had a virus-like effect on my ship. Therefore, when I docked within my base, whatever emanated from that stupid planet remained to infiltrate my base and brought it totally to it’s knees. Not for any lack of trying on my part, mind you - I simply wasn’t anticipating something so - … stupid.” Holding a hand to his chest, now, Zim is smiling, and it’s so nonchalant, so ego-driven, Dib is swept into the lie. “So, injured and without my usual technology, I had to get my hands dirty. And then you came along, and well,” he trails off. Dib waits for him to continue. And waits. And waits.  _

_ Zim has gone on with whatever repairs he’s up to on the dashboard. _

_ “... That’s.. That’s it?” _

_ “Mmhm.” _

_ “... A radioactive flare crippled your ship and you, for that matter, and then somehow transferred across space to your base?” _

_ “Space is incomprehensible, Dib-thing! Get with the program! Sheesh! … I would have been fine had you not appeared. But if it stokes your miserable ego… If only because I am impressed you were capable of infiltrating my base with no power to hinder your movement.” _

_ Dib blinks, staring at Zim’s back. His PAK is it’s usual magenta.  _

_ “You said some scary stuff last night,” is all he can manage.  _

_ Zim pauses in his work. He doesn’t turn around or resume, just stands. Dib waits. He knows, in the next moment or so, something is about to shift. Something drastic. Maybe terrible. Maybe not so terrible. He can’t be sure but his mouth is very dry. _

_ After an agonizingly long five seconds, Zim goes back to work. “Loathe as I am to admit it, my PAK is not quite invincible. I was hurt enough that it was less interested in regulating my brain meats. Annnd, ehh, whatever was in that radiation may have affected my sweet, precious Zim-mind,” here he lifts his hand, voice raising in injustice. “Forget about whatever you heard. It meant nothing.” _

_ The earlier feeling of premonition crashes around Dib’s feet like spilled oil. “So that’s what we’re going with?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “This is the story you’ve gonna stick to?” _

_ Zim turns from his work, squinting. “Yes, human, that’s what I just said,” _

_ “You expect me to believe  _ that _ absolute horseshit?” _

_Zim’s shoulders rise, indignant, “Are you calling Zim a liar-”_ _  
__“That's exactly what I’m doing.”_

_ Zim glares at him, then points a particularly sharp-edged tool in his direction. “You have already toed the line of your precious truce by simply being here, Dib-beast. Do not forget this.” _

_ “You were missing,” _

_ “Zim was never missing,” _

_ “You didn’t warn me where you were going,” _

_ Zim’s eye twitches. “Of course not. Truce or not, you’re my mortal enemy. I’d rather die than have you know where Zim is at all times.” _

_ “Oh, okay,” Dib crosses his arms (monitors that watch Zim’s base 24/7 aside), speaks deceptively soft, “you wanna tell me where you hide your other ship, then?” _

_Zim tilts his head. “What other ship-”_ _  
__“Because I happen to know for a fact, that your ship’s been in the base for the past four days.”_

_ Dib watches Zim react and then immediately reign in that reaction. His antennae flatten against his skull and he glares,  _ hard, _ and Dib is almost embarrassed to find himself caught off guard when Zim shows teeth. _

_ He takes one step forward, pointing again, “I am not sure what planet  _ you’re  _ on, insolent human, but most Irken’s would impale a creature contradicting their word,” _

_ Dib laughs harshly, “Oh, don’t start, Zim, you're lying and we both-” _

_ “SO WHAT IF ZIM IS LYING?!”  _

_ The shout echoes off the walls, rolls along the floor and ricohtettes into the control room which is, out of the corner of Dib’s eye, abso-fucking-luetly pristine. As if nothing had ever happened. _

_ It’s whiplash, as if the last several hours haven’t already been. Finding Zim, the aggression, the panic, the blood, the touching.  _

_ The curves of Zim’s face beneath his hands. Zim had been dangerously warm. Now all of it’s history, and he expects Dib to wipe his brain of it. Wash his hands, so to speak.  _

_ Maybe Zim didn’t remember the way Dib had held his face. Maybe he did and he was afraid. Maybe he doesn’t reciprocate and has the decency not to tell him to his face. Dib isn’t sure, but his mind is so focused on the absolute insolence that is Zim, how easy it is to hate him, to be furious, to want to storm over and get into a roll-in-the-mud, tugging out each others hair (or in Zim’s case, antennae) fight, and give him a black eye.  _

_ Worst of all, Dib can think of nothing to say. Zim points to the corridor with a tool, glaring. _

_ “Get out of my base.” _

  
  


_ The event is never discussed again. _

\---

Dib’s mind was blank.

All he could hear was the sound his feet made, pounding on the slick black concrete-like material of the road. He leapt over a remarkably short vendor wielding what looked like purple oranges, sliding beneath a table scattered with trashed heaps of Irken technology. After exactly eight steps from that one, he heard the table's contents flung and crash, angry and panicked shouts following. Behind him, Zim was deadly fast, hindered only by the crowd and obstacles in his way.

Never in his life had Dib been more  _ thankful  _ for such a lack of elbow room.

Alien blood, the yellow, pus-colored kind, was drying on the side of his face, making him equally thankful for the mask - he wouldn’t have to worry about it slipping into his mouth. 

A moment of stupidity and he dared to glance over his shoulder in time to see a flash of strange, silvery teeth and overly wide magenta eyes clambering over an awning and landing on PAK legs, closing space between them rapidly. When he looked forward, he was slamming into the body of a green alien carrying crates. All of the air knocked out of him as Dib crashed aside, the crates collapsing, burst, their contents (alien sausages (Dib recognized these as Vort Dogs), and other such delicacies) spilling out like entrails. Dib thought he might be sick. The rain was running into his eyes but he hardly had time to wipe it away.

_ Holy shit holy shit holyshitholyshit-  _ he was getting to his feet, the ping-ping-ping of PAK legs drawing so terribly close when someone yanked him by his elbow and drew him in.

“You’ve gotta PAY for that-” the translator managed, before a PAK leg sunk into the middle of the green alien’s forehead, bursting the third eye there, making it pop. For the first time, Dib screamed as a second leg was coming down and he unwound his hand and spun behind the alien, muttering sorry, over and over, as he flung them back, making the PAK leg fumble, before he ducked back into the crowd which was rapidly dwindling in panic, and into an alleyway.

He regretted it immediately. Even if he’d created some distance between himself and Zim now, as Zim had struggled to rip his PAK leg from the leathery flesh of the alien he’d impaled, there was no crowd to hide within there. There was even less debris than usual. Dib’s heart threatened to get mashed between his teeth, his thoughts scattering.

There were voices demanding they stop, and sounds which were suspiciously like weaponry - lazer guns, the hiss of metal blades - but Dib wasn't sure if he should fear for his own life, or Zim’s - not that he really had the mental capabilities to worry about Zim right now.

His mind caught up to him in fragments. He was halfway through a sentence before he even really realized he was shouting. “- in there?! Zim, this is fucking  _ insane!!”  _

Behind him, Zim said nothing, the sound of PAK legs gripping metal as he crawled along the stone and metal walls, slippery as they were, after Dib. 

In the past, running from Zim, even at its worst, almost always had  _ meaning  _ to it. Either it was half fun and they were both grinning from it, or he was angry, and there was a purpose. 

This was such mindless terror...

Dib turned a corner, and then another, ducked beneath clothesline and over garbage. He slipped into another turn and immediately, even as he ran toward it, terror was making his stomach flip.

A dead end.

He slid as he stopped, staring up at the height of the wall - indeed, it seemed simply like an entire addition to the building, climbing up impossibly high. On either side of him were not walls but whole structures. Nowhere to climb and no other turns to take. He spun around to face where he’d come. His breath was ragged. His chest  _ burned.  _ With Gir in his hands, his mind couldn't quite grapple with  _ drop the damn thing  _ and  _ get a fucking weapon..!!! _

Zim’s hand appeared on the corner of the wall first, three, gloved claws to disembowel him with. Then, .01 seconds later, the rest of him ripped around. Zim didn’t slow.

“Zim, Zim,  _ ZimZimZim, wait, wait, please, just listen for a minute - I don’t understand-” _

The rapid  _ taktaktak-tatak-tak-tak-taktaktak  _ of oncoming PAK legs was sending him into a frantic tailspin. Panic clawed up his throat.  _ Why won’t he answer me...!?  _ This must’ve been what deer felt like as wolves leapt, jaws encircling their-

The heel of his boot had stepped back and he had enough sense to wonder that he wasn’t, somehow, brushing the wall with it. A glance down, and he realized why.

A tunnel. Likely for sewage, but Dib didn't give a shit. He dropped fast, nearly dropping 

Gir as he went, and flung himself feet first into the sewer.

It wasn’t quite narrow and it didn’t drop into a sewer  _ system,  _ which was a relief; if it were any narrower, he’d likely spiral into a full-on claustrophobic-induced panic attack. Dib ducked low and turned himself around into a crawl, where he hurried through what might’ve been ten feet of tunnel, two inches of water streaming through it (clearly now, he realized, meant less for sewage and more so for the travel of water to avoid flooding), before he popped out into a main street (it occurred to him, also, as he scrambled through the crowd that having ducked into the tunnel he hadn’t considered there might’ve been bars on the other side, like most anti-flood tunnels had to prevent the travel of debris, and the thought alone was terrifying enough that he nearly gagged).

Behind him, Zim was just beginning to angle PAK legs then limbs out of the entrance of the tunnel. This crowd seemed unaware of the havoc he’d begun. No one paid him, or Dib for that matter, much mind, until Dib could hear the angry, startled, and pain filled shouts of those who were unfortunate enough to end up in Zim’s way. 

His mind couldn’t formulate a plan, and he didn’t have time to lament this detail; Dib took a hard right, flinging himself into the open doors of a storefront. Within, the acrid, foul stench of flesh. A butcher shop.  _ Why  _ did the mask allow smell?  _ WHYYY not mask the smell..!? _ Meat of various colors hung from the ceiling. Now Dib really  _ was  _ gonna be sick and instinctively, despite the mask, he clapped a hand over where his mouth was supposed to be, and bolted for the counter. He slammed a palm onto it and leapt over, swinging his legs over the side and landing with a thud beside the alien working behind it, who stumbled out of his way. Behind him was a doorway, perhaps to a cutting room of sorts, maybe even a freezer (which, in Dib’s mind currently, did not register as a possible second dead end). And thankfully, it wasn’t. He had no time to take in the details of the cutting-room-whatever it was. There was another door ahead. There were aliens here, too, all who shouted and seemed confused by his presence. He could hear, behind him, the alien at the counter shouting, the familiar scrape of PAK legs, and he was out the second door, flinging himself into a new alleyway where he rushed past another alien on his smoke break.

In the back of his head, he was thinking of the myth of Hercules and the Minotaur. Other than that, everything was blank.

He turned bends and ducked into new apartments, found new tunnels and slid into them, crawling through and turning corners he recognized, back into crowds, then back into alleyways, twisting, turning, until he had fuck all idea as to where he was, and his breath was coming out raspy, and his lungs felt like they might burst.

Overhead, a flash of lighting. Thunder rumbled.

Without wanting to, he slowed, slowed enough to stop for a moment, gasping for breath. His back struck a wall and he stood, trying to find normalcy to his heartbeat which was hammering.

Far, far off, someone shouted. He jolted up - but now that he’d stopped, the momentum wasn’t coming back.

Ahead, a large hunk of debris. Dib jogged for it.

It was a crashed half ship, dripping with green fungi which hung like moss from it’s opening. Dib ducked beneath the curtain of it. The windshield of the ship was shattered long ago revealing a cockpit that looked to have been used as a living quarter semi-recently. Dib buried himself deep into the pilot's seat and waited. Held his breath, despite his lungs screaming at him. 

There was a drip, drip, drip sound of some pipe. The distant hum of the crowd far away, more shouting, another sound which was reminiscent of a siren. 

No PAK legs. 

Dib sunk into the pilots seat. 

He wanted to rip off the mask and just collapse here. Not get up. Everything was so fucked and he didn’t even know why. The earlier argument seemed like cake now. Zim’s eyes hovered in his mind's eye, somehow equally shallow and depthless. Like a shell.

_ Or a puppet. _

Dib closed his eyes, ears still straining for any suspicious noise, and buried his face in his hands. What the  _ fuck  _ had gone wrong? Clearly it had something to do with whatever Zim had done with his leaders. That chip… Had it infected Zim with some virus? Was he perhaps being remote-controlled, used like a puppet? Was he hallucinating? Possessed? If Zim were just mad at him, he’d be sure to make sure Dib knew every reason as to why he was chasing him and trying to run him through. He wasn’t subtle. But this…

Dib dragged his hands down his face. His breathing had begun to level out. He stared ahead, thought of nothing for a long few seconds before his gaze fell down to his lap.

He stared down at Gir.

The left eye was cracked all the way across. Not quite different from Zim’s eyes, he could see in the darkness, plates, and reflectors within Gir’s lightless eyes. His mouth was set into an expressionless straight line.

The puncture in his chest was wide and had nearly torn him in two. Holding him out, Dib saw how his bottom half was held on by only a few tendon-like wires. Zim’s PAK leg had skewered so suddenly, the momentum had dragged the robot to the legs wider end. 

He wasn’t sure if this damage could be repaired. Within Gir were a million wires thin as parasites. Pieces were clearly missing. Chips were snapped in half. A piece of technology as advanced as Gir had to be immensely intricate within. 

Outside, the rain fell. Dib’s ears strained for something that wasn’t there at all.

The silence. It’d never quite occurred to him how often Gir was humming or singing or speaking mindlessly to himself. Like a very annoying white-noise machine.

His chest hurt, and it wasn’t because of the strain from the binder or all that terrible running.

Dib tapped the side of Gir’s head, then slung his backpack around. He took everything out of it, including the matted, filthy dog Gir had given him. He reached further in then gasped when something sharp bit his finger-

“ _ What the hell?”  _ He peered into his backpack nervously… Then sighed. The jar of azarogs had been shattered. A sticky, jelly-like substance stained the inside and had completely ruined the Vortian circuit board Zim had purchased for him. Useless now, Dib tossed it aside, as well as the limp, greying body of the azarog.  _ Sorry buddy… _

The alien tablet, however, had survived

He opened Gir’s head and rummaged around. He found ancient, molding food, a paper clip, a marble. What might've been a baby’s tooth (ew?) and the Irken chip Gir had shown he and Zim hours earlier. Dib plucked that out, stuffing it into his pocket. Further digging provided several wires. All but one were useless; the final stuck into a port on the alien tablets side. A moment, and the tablets screen lit up, recognizing the connection. When it asked for a passcode, Dib entered the very same passcode Gir had given him in Zim’s base months ago. Across the screen, an interface regarding Gir’s memory chip appeared.

The data was terribly corrupted and difficult to use, worsened by Gir’s current state. Not to mention the difficulty using Irken interfaces to begin with.

He found, finally, a file labeled  _ MASTER STATUS.  _ Dib opened it. Here was every biological detail necessary where Zim’s health might be concerned; blood type, various organ descriptions, pulse readings (Zim had two - Dib had never known that), etc. A second file, titled  _ CURRENT DIAGNOSTICS.  _ Where earlier, warnings of compromised immune systems had flashed, everything was offline. Everything. In the top right hand of the screen, something flashed.

_ PAK ID ???? _

_ WARNING: COGNITIVE SEQUENCING OFFLINE _

_ REPORT TO CONTROL BRAINS IMMEDIATELY _

And across from that:

_ ALL DIAGNOSTICS CURRENTLY IN SESSION WITH  _ THE MASSIVE

Dib lowered the tablet. He stared at nothing. Of course, there was nothing surprising about any of this. Whether Zim would listen or not, his leaders liked a spectacle, and  _ this  _ sure was a show. But to see the information right there in his face. They probably  _ were  _ laughing. And suddenly Dib was so  _ angry,  _ so absolutely enraged, he couldn’t move, could only set his teeth and sit as still as possible. If he moved just an inch, something would collapse.

_ Zim has been given a second chance.  _ The flash of genuine pride. It was beyond pathetic.

The Armada symbol, grinning down at him in Zim’s base.

If he could kill the Tallest’s himself, he would, but that chance would likely never arise. And what would it matter? All of Zim’s life had been spent serving and being humiliated by a thoughtless, vicious empire. Someone would come in the Tallest’s place and Zim would swoon for whoever that was, too. And that Tallest would laugh and point and play him like a fiddle and Zim would be none the wiser, in fact, would thank them for it.

_ I’m going to leave you here in this disgusting alleyway to die of organ failure, I’m going to take your ship, and I’m burning your goddamn base to the ground. _

  
Dib felt suddenly very miserable. There wasn’t much room for anger, although it stirred, as exhausted as it was, and settled as a pit in his stomach. 

It took several seconds for the shaking, the fury to subside enough so that gingerly, Dib could lift Gir’s shell up and place him at the bottom of the backpack, stacking the rest of his things around and on top of him in such a way so as to not damage the robot further. When this was over, they would fix the robot  _ together,  _ metaphorically solving the list of betrayals sitting here now. Zim would apologize and Dib would find the words to convince him that whatever Zim thought the Tallest’s offered, Dib had times one hundred.

_Like hell it’s gonna be that easy._

He stared ahead. 

_ Now what? _

He needed to find Zim and then - _convince him to come back to the ship?_ Should he wrangle him- no, he couldn’t. Zim would kill him. _So what,_ _devise SOME plan, make a net- corner him and drag him to the ship. Like a dogcatcher._ A snide return to Zim’s earlier comment of declaring Dib a dog. _That’ll show him._ Okay, but he didn’t _have_ a net. Maybe one of the vendors... Or in Gir’s arsenal-

Suddenly, the curtain of moss and fungi was yanked back and a hand reached in and wrapped around his ankle. Dib didn’t have time to react, to even scream. His hand hooked around his backpack just as the hand around his ankle yanked and he was ripped painfully from the crashed ship, out into the open.

The hand threw him into a doorway where the frame shuddered.

“No, no,  _ Zim, wait-!” _

“We are not your psychotic friend,” the voice that rang in his translator had an almost Russian-quality to it. Dib’s eyes sprang open. Before him was an alien, likely a Vortian although Dib wasn’t sure. His skin was purple and his eyes were comically tiny, red beads smushed into his head, and he was a hulk in size; broad shoulders, pinning Dib some three feet off the ground and against the door frame. His horns were stiff, short, and black. His grasp on Dib’s coat was ironclad.

_ How much bodily damage am I expected to take up here? _

“Deal went wrong, eh?” Approaching the Vortian’s side, Dib recognized the smeet selling Irken right away. “What was your point in coming here? To just wreck the place? They said your friend was fucking crazy but whats’s the point of all this, huh?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re-”

“Theft is punished via limb removal on this planet.” The Irken tutted, “Don’t act offended! You tourists sign yourselves up for this when you don’t read the rules-”

“Th-theft, I don’t- I’m sorry, but what the hell are you accusing me of?” His voice was high and cracking.

“- but I know Invaders - even disgraced ones - are often quite monetarily gifted. What would your friend offer in exchange for your body kept in one piece?”

Dib stared, deadpan. “Not much,”

The Irken stiffened, “Don’t joke with me-”

Oh, the list of troubles caused by Zim that were heaping onto Dib’s head right now were about to break the camel's back. “I don’t even know what it is you think we stole!” Dib cried.

The Irken threw his arms out angrily. “My smeets! Do you know the arduous process of smuggling them?! Your friend stole _all of them_ \- they’re worth 12,000 monies each- and for what uses? Cannibalism? Slavery?” The Irken rambled on while Dib listened miserably. He didn’t think Zim could have had time to steal the smeets in the crates. And if he had, why bother? He hadn’t seemed interested in them at all when Dib had pointed them out. Was it maybe an attempt (before he’d gone crazy, of course) to make it up to Dib? But then, where had he-  
The Irken was still shouting when Dib heard it, a tiny clicking.

Zim landed behind the Irken, and reached for his antennae. The Vortian and the Irken both had their backs to him; Dib watched as his fist curled around the painfully sensitive appendage and yanked it back, tearing it at its root. Dib winced, and time again fell apart. The Irken, smuggler or not, had had his own training, too, and though hissing in pain, he was reacting, whirling around activating PAK legs. Zim was stepping back as he was turning but the Irken was quick and one claw shoved against Zim’s face, throwing him into the other wall with a hard  _ SMACK. _ The Vortian was turning just as the other Irken’s momentum was throwing him into Zim, PAK legs rising to run Zim through-

Dib couldn’t help it - homicidal maniac or not, this was  _ Zim.  _ He struggled against the Vortian. “No, hey-  _ wait, don’t-!”  _

One of the Irken’s PAk legs sunk into a high place of Zim’s shoulder, burying itself deep. Zim didn’t react. He drew forward, impaling himself further, to sink teeth in the crook of the Irken’s shoulder, where neck met shoulder.

A long time ago, Dib didn’t recall when, Zim had told him where Irken’s came from, sort of, their history as prey, then hardening as predators, the small kind, like a mongoose. In herds, Irkens were great against massive predators, chasing them until they tired and then overwhelming them with their numbers. Their teeth, strange as they were, were razor-sharp, to make no mention of claws. Dib couldn’t imagine the leap in technology and time which had brought Irkens to what they were now - he almost didn’t want to know.

Zim ripped his head back, teeth still buried into the Irken, tearing flesh and spraying blood.

Frantically, Dib reached out and drove a thumb into the Vortian’s right eye. He felt grape-y flesh give and begin to break then the Vortian was rearing back his head and screeching, dropping him uselessly against the door frame. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Dib was stumbling toward the mess of debris, scrabbling up the ship. Just as he was throwing himself over to the other side, the Vortian was grabbing his ankle. Dib cried out, kicking. Behind them, Zim’s own PAK legs were skewering the Irken through the middle, tearing out precious wiring in his PAK. Unceremoniously, he wrenched the leg which had sunk into his shoulder out, turning his attention to Dib. His hollow eyes burnt furiously; blood was running from his mouth in candy pink colors.

Terrified, Dib used his free foot to kick the Vortian in the face. Zim’s attention was wrenched from him when the Vortian landed in his way.

The split-second was over; Dib threw himself over the ship and started running as soon as his feet struck the ground.

Down more alleyways and through new crowds. Ducking where the crowds were thickest and constantly looking over his shoulder. He tugged his hood over his head, rain pelting his shoulders, his backpack thrown over his shoulder.

He retraced his steps, feeling a little like he was going crazy. More turns and even a stairway, and then he was on a bridge, running across, between two buildings until the bridge tapered down, down like a ramp until he was back on what was considered  _ ground level  _ on this planet. In some places, the crowds seemed entirely unaware of what had taken place some blocks away.  _ This is a criminal planet after all. What’s a little random violence?  _

He suddenly thought back to Zim on the ship, tugging him closer by his hood. Zim had been right - Dib couldn’t handle himself on a planet like this. The culture, the violence, the languages. Without Zim to intercept (even unwittingly), he was totally alien food.

Dib’s gait had slowed considerably. 

He couldn’t run anymore, taking corners and trailing his hand along the slimy surface. His breath came out ragged. The back of his head was throbbing from getting thrown into the door, not to mention the dull pain that still hummed in his right eye. 

His boots scuffed the ground. He looked over his shoulder. He supposed he could try to take Zim head-on but- 

_ But what? If he shows his face again, stab him through the gut. You have a gun!  _

He did, in fact, have several weapons, knives, and guns given to him by Zim hours ago. He’d used weapons on Zim before, he knew combat, he knew how to defend himself, sort of, but Zim had never set himself so mindlessly onto Dib like this… Experience didn’t really seem to matter.

He thought of the Irken stabbing Zim in the shoulder, how his breath hadn’t even hitched, how he’d allowed himself to slide further along it just to rip the guy’s neck out. Dib thought about how deep that wound might be. 

He stopped his back to the wall, and caught his breath. 

_ So just give up? _

He at least wanted the closure of talking whatever this was  _ out.  _

Dib stared at the tips of his boots and let himself think of nothing, just grip his knees and catch his breath. 

Something was blooming in his chest and Dib was startled to recognize it:  _ apathy. _

When he straightened again, Dib raked fingers through his unkempt hair. Stumbled around another corner, because if he was lost, then fuck it, he would just lose himself some more, biding his time until the familiar click of PAK legs. Ahead was a long corridor of an alleyway, a tipped over dumpster. A ship flew rather low overhead. Dib kept walking.

There was, at the end of the alleyway, a figure.

Some strange instinct for caution drew up and Dib softened his steps as best he could. Ten feet away, and the figure was talking, softly. Their voice drifted back, and Dib caught Vortian phrases.

“... Shriek departed from the planet hours ago so the chip’s already been deployed..! Well, I don’t  _ know,  _ I haven’t found the recipient yet…. There was a disturbance some blocks from here so we’re probably already too late- … Of  _ course  _ I’m continuing with the plan, I’m only telling you that the plan has also  _ changed-”  _

The one sided argument continued. The figure was dressed in all black and they- no,  _ she  _ \- spoke into a device at the wrist. The other voice was tinny, garbled. It didn’t matter. Dib noted the antennae - curled into a stiff, perfect swirl. 

He paused. 

Just as the Irken’s head angled up, Dib ducked behind the tipped over dumpster.

His mind was running a hundred miles an hour, apathy wiped out to be replaced with frantic, glittering hope. He thought of the scurrying Irken he’d seen in the crowd earlier, of Zim’s face on the WANTED poster - and then the other faces he’d seen there. He fumbled frantically with his pockets, fingers forming around something and tugging it out.

“Give me a moment,” she muttered, and he heard the cautious steps of a killer approaching.

That voice. Dib knew that voice.

Something was rapidly coming together at the front of his mind.

From his belt, Dib’s fingers wrapped next around the grip of one of the lazer-guns Zim had given him.

As soon as the figure rounded the corner and pointed something at him, Dib was cocking the gun as Zim had shown him once years ago. A high pitched hum emitted from it, making them both start. Lazer guns had the capability of preparing temperatures upwards of 2,000 degrees fahrenheit in less than two seconds.

A red dot on the figure's forehead. The Irken in black pointed a similar gun, although her’s was bigger and Dib could imagine the light in the middle of his own, big forehead.

Dib held his breath.

His trembled against the hammer. “No quick movements or I’ll blow off your head,”

“It’ll grow back,” the Irken’s voice had always baffled him - how she managed to sound so alien and so  _ European  _ (or was that Australian?) was beyond him. In the meantime, Dib grimaced - he didn’t like recalling the exact  _ immortality  _ of the likely vengeful Irken before him, not to mention the one looking for him right now. “Yours won’t, human.”

Dib forced his breathing to remain steady. He raised his chin. “What are you doing here,  _ Tak?” _

Tak mirrored him. “I could ask you the same,  _ Dib." _


	7. botched trials

Tak did not look as Dib last saw her.

For one, a scar ran down her right eye, a jagged streak of darker green that sharpened to a point above her top lip. Her Invader uniform was gone, replaced entirely with space-black body suit. High black boots, black fingerless gloves, a black hood and cowl which brushed the backs of her knees. Beneath the cowl, the body suit was high-necked, her pants high waisted, and her belt was black, too - with a single line of purple paint upon it.

She scowled. “No, really,  _ what are  _ you doing here? I expected Zim would’ve killed you by now,”

For a moment, Dib thought she was referring to the maniac chasing him. Then his mind flung back to years, years ago, when he was twelve and Zim was most certainly his mortal enemy, hundreds of hours spent taunting and purposefully provoking Zim. 

“He's tried plenty of times, believe me,”

Tak glanced once at his gun. “I see he’s stocked you. Or was that one stolen?”

He followed her line of sigh briefly. His hand trembled, his fingers sweating against the hammer. His skin buzzed; she didn’t seem at all worried about the weapon aimed at her head. “Why are  _ you  _ here, Tak?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

Dib stared. It didn’t matter to him. Might as well barrel straight to the point. “I want your help,”

Tak’s mouth twitched. He realized, slowly, that she was smirking. She tilted her head to the side. “Human. Last time I spent less than twenty-four hours with you I was left defenseless, without my SIR unit, ship, and without a  _ mission. _ ” Her smirk hardened into something like a snarl. “I spent five years on Mooping-10. Do you know what that is?” 

He was too exhausted to scour his mind for that vaguely familiar name. “No-”

“It’s only among the most brutal prisons in the galaxy, next to the one’s run directly by Irk. Do you know how trials are conducted there?” Her hand had snaked toward him, unnoticed, and she gripped him by his collar now and wrenched him up the wall to her eye level. She didn’t wait for him to answer. He fumbled with his gun, slippery against his skin. It clattered onto the ground at her feet. “THERE AREN’T ANY! You  _ rot there,  _ human,”

“L-listen, this is only the third time today someone’s held me against a wall, and to be honest with you, I’m a little fucking sick of it-”

“ _ FIVE YEARS, DIB!” _

“You were trying to destroy Earth! My _home planet!”_ _  
_ “ _AND?!”_

Dib sputtered, “UH, was I supposed to just let you  _ take it _ ? I don’t even let  _ ZIM  _ do that!”

Tak leaned in close, glaring, “Why would I ever want to help  _ you _ ?”

Abruptly, she released him. He slid down the wall, staring up at her. Five years.  _ Well, she DID try to melt Earth with a core reactor. But if  _ Zim  _ had been the one sent away…  _

He reached into his pocket and pinched the Irken memory chip there between his fingers. Tak tensed. “Relax,” he urged, “we can make a bargain,”

Tak cackled. “ _ Bargain _ ? With  _ what _ ?” Her antennae shot up from beneath the hood suddenly. “I suppose if you allowed me to kill Zi-”

“No.” 

Tak frowned. “Then you have nothing worth my time.”

If she was right, he was fucked. Dib steeled his voice not to tremble. “Whatever happened to Mimi, by the way?”

Tak had always been a better soldier than Zim. Tactically, she was far more sophisticated, serious, her ego didn’t get into her eyes like Zim’s did. Even so, Dib saw the twitch in one eye, how her mouth set a little thinner. Irken’s all had similar quirks. One might insist they wore their heart’s on their sleeves. They were rarely subtle. Maybe it came from the lack of practice in the realm of emotion. 

Dib smiled.  _ Good. _

“Only Invader’s need SIR units,” she said, low. 

“Everyone needs a companion,”

“Don’t act subtle with me, human, spit it ou-”

Dib held up the Irken chip.

She glared suspiciously at it. “What is that?”

“Only Mimi’s memory chip,” Thank  _ Christ  _ for Gir and the weird shit he hoarded. How long had this thing been buried in there? It was sticky with ancient dust, the size of a quarter, chrome with a violet finish. He knew enough Irken to recognize the SIR unit code scribbled in tiny, tiny letters along edges that he’d also seen on Gir’s own chip. Tak’s name, with it, in fine, sharp letters. “But, if you aren’t an Invader anymore, then I suppose neither of us needs it-”

“Wait,” Tak’s teeth were set into a line. “What do you want from me?”

His heart stuttered with relief - the first step had been testing if she’d simply kill him for it. 

Maybe she still would. Did Irken’s have a sense of honor?

“I told you, your  _ help- _ ”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Dib sighed. “I need help -... fixing Zim…?”

“...  _ Excuse  _ me?”

The communication device from her wrist sputtered and spoke suddenly, startling them both. Tak glanced once at it, listening as she trained eyes on Dib. He tried to listen in, too; his translator was only getting scraps.

“...  _ Reports …. Violent and …. Dead…. Recipient …. Irken-” _

Without tearing her eyes from him, she responded. Her accented voice was caught well by the translator. A simple  _ roger that.  _

Tak raised her chin. Said, simply, “So you have our chip,”

Dib swallowed. If Tak had been promoted, maybe she was the  _ worst  _ Irken to ask for help. Perhaps the voice on the other side of that device was the Irken Zim had met at the bar? 

“... Zim has it, yes,”

“Where is he?”

“They put it into his PAK,” he added, quickly. Tak’s expression was half lidded, deadpan.

“Of course they did,” she said, simply.

_ They.  _ Dib frowned, gun still raised. “That’s why I’m asking for your help,”

“He left you shipless here, huh?”

Dib opened his mouth. Closed it. He hadn’t thought that Zim, in his crazed state, might flee Meeklroth. The thought alone was a little horrifying.

Where Tak might’ve grinned at his misfortune, she instead frowned. “Where might he have gone?”

“I don’t think he left the planet, he’s just- fuck, how do I even explain it to you? He’s always been a homicidal maniac, but Christ, it’s like he can’t hear anyone! He just- he keeps coming, in fact right now-”

Tak stiffened. “He’s following you now?”

“ _ Yes- _ ”

Tak reached forward, snarled, “Why the hell didn’t you  _ say so?”  _ and yanked him up. Dib stumbled, stepping into a puddle as Tak trudged toward the opening of the alleyway. She spoke into her device. “ _ Last known location of the recipient?” _

She peered out of the alleyway, looking left and right. The street outside was silent, almost empty. Dib didn’t see anyone, although the buildings here were littered with neon, flashing signs and posters. Balconies and apartments with fluttering curtains open to the rainy, somewhat fresher Meekleroth air stared down at them.

Tak’s grip on his wrist was tightening. 

Dib wriggled to be free. “You know what that chip-thing does?”

Her device spoke back, “ _ Unknown, roger.” _

Tak made a low sound that might’ve been a growl. Wordlessly, she tugged Dib out of the alleyway and down the street along the walls. Again, he was winding through Meekleroth, past apartments and shops, into crowded streets where Tak hissed that he lower his head and not make any eye contact, before winding him into a narrow alleyway.

They didn’t walk long. Her gait slowed before two chained, cellar-like doors below. Dib stared at them, thought of every horror movie he’d ever seen as Tak bent over and worked the locks. The chains slid away like snakes. She threw the doors open-

-and then faced him, aiming her gun again

“I’m not helping you because I like you, Dib.” She said. It made him think of Zim.

“Then why are you helping me?” The chip was hard against the palm of his hand.

“I need that chip,” Tak said quietly, then scowled. “Not the one you have. The one Zim has.”

Dib swallowed. Decided to try his luck. “Why don’t you just tear it out of him?”

“Because- and I cannot  _ believe. I have to say this.  _ But,” she closed her eyes, breathed in deep. “It’s better if Zim’s alive. For now.” She gestured with the gun toward the stairway behind the cellar doors. They dipped down, down into darkness. Pitch darkness. “Go.” Tak ordered.

The cellar sort of looked like the type of place he’d heard of people getting chopped up in. And while this wasn’t Earth, Dib was pretty certain stranger danger applied here, too.

_ Either way you’re a walking target.  _ Tak or Zim. She could shoot him in the back and leave him here if he wanted, but he supposed if she just wanted Mimi’s chip she could’ve done that in the alleyway. Dib lowered his head and sighed, took a step forward.

Six steps down and finally, Tak was following, closing the doors behind her and locking them. The staircase was flung into darkness.  _ So much for backing out now.  _ He clenched his fists, feeling his pulse thunder.

For an instant, there was only blackness; then his eyes adjusted to shapes, as the fungi which lined the walls in thick clumps began to glow. Soft hues, blue and green illuminating the wet staircase. Dib clutched his backpack to his chest as he picked his way carefully against the damp cement steps. The air here was cool and moist. When he reached the bottom, Tak brushed past him, past shelves pushed into the walls and lined with jars. A light, brighter than the fungi, lit up ahead. A blue light, looking like something that might dwell at the bottom of the mariana’s trench, hovering from a wire before what looked to be a massive dashboard; as if it’d been ripped out of a ship and installed down here.

“The air’s safe here,” Tak said absently, “You can take off that stupid mask.”

Dib raised his hand - then paused. He felt stiff, glancing around. The blue light didn’t reach very far, making black shapes out of the clutter behind them now. The space was cluttered with junk; peeling posters on the wall of what appeared to be blueprints and Irken Empire propaganda written in big, bombastic, sharp letters. Wire and piping wound around the ceiling and disappeared into the walls. Tak bent over the dashboard, working tiny screens with deft fingers.

“Why did you bring me here?” 

Tak ignored him. “How long has Zim been hostile, to your knowledge?” There were a number of dusty monitors hanging above the table which invoked the same, paravoid-survelleir of his youth. There were lines in the dust to indicate recent use. His skin prickled; were they alone down here? Dib stared past Tak at his reflection in one monitor, standing dumbly at the border of where the lamp’s light stretched thin. His shadow behind him was faint. The mask glowed a faint blue. There was blood on his face, both yellow and red. He remembered suddenly, the cut on his face. The tear in his gloves. He must have brushed his face and smeared it across his cheek while running.

“Since I met him,”

An antennae twitched. Tak glanced up, “Don’t be a smartass,”

“Answer my question first,”

She slammed her fist against one of the dashboards screens suddenly. It made an alerted noise, little blue tiles emanating from the point of impact. Dib was too exhausted to jump. Tak straightened, staring at him. Her eyes, like Zim's, reflected light like a cat’s. She narrowed them.  
“If I wanted to kill you, human,” Tak began, lowly, “I would have done it in that alleyway. But surely you already _knew that._ ”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Why should  _ I  _ trust  _ you _ ?” 

They stared at each other for a long moment, the screens above her head blinking online one by one. The room illuminated further, starkening shadows and humming softly. Dib sighed. He felt so tired - and confused. He reached and undid the straps of the mask, letting it hang around his neck. The air was cool and moist, smelling faintly of mildew and many, many years. It was a welcome scent.

He dropped his backpack next and dug through it. Found the tablet and then Gir, still attached via the wire from his chest. He lay both across the dashboard before Tak. The tablet blinked to life again, returning to the screen Dib had left it on; Zim’s vitals were the same. 

All the while, Tak watched wordlessly, staring at the tablet, then Gir.

Dib cleared his throat, speaking quietly. “Gir did a reading of Zim’s PAK or something before he went berserk. He’s been acting like this for maybe… Five minutes.” He pointed to the corner of the screen. “We’ve got an audience, too.”

Tak leaned over the tablet, then glanced at Gir. “What happened to his SIR?”

“He stabbed him.” Dib shrugged. “I don’t know why.”

Tak nodded absently, then took up the tablet. She left the screen, fingers deftly finding other files, new bytes. Her fingers brushed her mouth. Her eyes were searching the tablet, mouth screwed up in concentration. Dib could feel the tension winding up in her shoulders.

“Well?” He felt panic rising. “What is it?”

Tak pointed to a thick, purple wire dangling beside one of the screens. “Give me the other end of that,” 

Dib complied, if a little apprehensive. What he hated most about space was how far behind he was, intellectually, technologically. Without his own ship or at least even his father’s work, he was left helpless among beings ten times more in the know than he was.

“You can override it, right? I mean, it’s just a computer virus, right?”

“This is still a prototype…” Tak paused, “whatever. That’s better, anyway… It doesn’t matter, the plan’s the same. Of course I can override it,” 

“It said he’d been reencoded,” The PAK’s ‘voice’, alert system, whatever one might want to call it, had sounded crackling and ruined as it spoke.

Tak disengaged Gir from the tablet, replacing the wire with the purple one. The information from the tablet was blown up onto the monitors. She gestured absently to Gir. “He can be fixed easily. Put him away. The PAK thinks it’s been re-encoded when really it’s just- blocking signals, or streaming a single source in… Re-encoding takes far more power and complexity than whatever this is,”

Dib gathered Gir up carefully. The metal had since gone entirely cold. He was so light.

“What’s it meant to do? Does it just- fuck up his PAK and kill him?” He thought of blocked signals, Zim’s offline status. Again, Tak didn’t answer right away. She’d settled back into her chair and was soaking in all the data before her, eyes searching, two claws against her lips.

Dib had never really gotten to know or understand her. He’d never truly gotten her motives for attempting to take Earth (Zim had blamed it on jealousy). It was clear she was the competent, cold soldier that Irk built every day. It’d taken her appearance to really hammer home Zim’s own incompetence… But why hadn’t other Irken’s followed her? Had she been rogue? He’d always believed Tak had been there on orders to take over or assist Zim, and yet…

Finally, Tak faced him and held up two fingers. “Intelligence stolen by the Resisty thinks it’s for two things; defective Irkens at risk of blowing a mission, and, more importantly, defect _ ed  _ Irkens within the Resisty. An Irken at risk of botching a mission - specifically a defective Irken, can be expected to with this virus, deteriorate to a remote-ordered robot. They can be given commands from wherever to insure a flawless mission…”

The information on the screen was all messy, flashing Irken. He didn’t have the patience to even begin to squint and figure it out. 

“What about that second option?”

“Defect _ ed _ Irkens are allowed to roam freely, but this means no mental commands, not even their own, and thus they become violent, lashing out at what is familiar.” Tak dropped her hand. “What was Zim like when he was chasing you?”

“Mindless,”

“Then it’s the latter, for him,”

Dib wasn’t convinced. He thought of Zim’s PAK legs, dangling him a bit like a puppet on strings. He pointed to the screens. “But he’s in session with the Massive-”

“This is a prototype,” she gestured vaguely, “it lacks finesse. The Tallest’s don’t quite know what it’ll do yet, if it’ll kill him too soon or how intelligent he’ll be. They’re just tracking his movements and vitals and letting it all play out,”

Dib shook his head, staring up at the screen. “It all seems kinda stupid,”

Tak shrugged.

“A violent, mindless Irken kinda sounds like the last thing the Armada would want,” It also sorta sounded like their current state of affairs. Not enough of a change.

Tak raised a brow. “You infect a defected Irken within the Resisty and you can ensure violence and slaughter until the Resisty figures out too late what’s happening. The Tallest’s hardly have to raise a finger,”

“Now you’ve got a feral Irken on the loose,”

Tak smiled mirthlessly. “For six hours you do,”

Dib blinked. “What do you mean…?”

He didn’t like the way Tak smiled at him, lifting the tablet delicately to wave it at him. “A PAK can’t handle this. The chip is blocking almost all functions. The PAK is in the background trying to overrun the virus that’s overloading it. Eventually, it exhausts itself, and when it’s weakened enough, the chip’ll override all functions,” She drew a line across her neck. “Complete shut down.”

The floor beneath him might’ve tilted a bit. “After only -  _ six hours?” _

But Tak was returning her attention back to her work, continuing on, “That doesn’t account for any injuries the Irken might take while under the chip. If you’re an Irken on the Resisity’s mother ship, someone’s going to fight back. The chip doesn’t allow for any regenerative functions, so,”

How long had Zim had the chip? Dib would have to assume it’d been the better half of the three hours Zim had initially disappeared. That left only three more - with two hours stuck returning on the ship, assuming he could get Zim on there in the first place, and in a timely manner. And how long would Tak take to create the antidote?  _ Antidote?  _ He didn’t even know what Tak’s plan was. Sure, she’d said she needed Zim alive, but firstly, why, and more importantly,  _ how?  _ A wave of panic was swelling in his gut.

Oblivious to his distress, Tak carried on. “I didn’t think the Control Brains or whoever created this would be so willing to construct something so destructive. To the PAK that is, not in general. PAKs are precious. All those memories, the collective…”

“The collective?”

She looked over her shoulder to glare at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what the PAK does? After all this time-”

“It’s like your motherboard or whatever,”

“It’s more than that. It’s us. It’s everything. Our minds, our emotions. Our- ... souls. This body is nothing compared to that. When I die-” she paused. Closed her mouth then formed a straight line with it. Her antennae drew up then lowered back against her skull. She faced her work. “... When I was an Irken Elite… Had I died, my PAK would simply have been reattached to someone else. And I would wake up again,”

Bile in the back of his throat. The sound of fingers against a slick screen. The blue light of his father’s lab against the stark white of his father’s coat.

Carefully, as if he were pulling back the curtains on something terrible. “... Like a clone?”

Tak shrugged. “If that’s what you’d like to call it,”

Dib hadn’t realized he’d been in a haze upon coming here, that his mind had been a hundred miles away until suddenly a memory was drawing into crystal clarity.

His father’s voice on the answering machine, so many hours ago.  _ Not hours, years. It’s been years hasn’t it? It had to have been years ago... _

  
  


_ … His father’s lab had never been off limits when Dib was a child. In fact, it was sort of a play place, until he got to be too old for that sort of thing. Climbing over vats and angling himself between towering lab tables. The place was blue, blue, blue. Blue lights, blue water in the tubes, blue tiles on the floor. He’d spent a lot of years when he was very small in that lab, underneath his father’s main work desk. Hiding behind his father’s coat when visitors came to gawk at all the machinery down there, all the petri dishes promising various cures to various diseases. _

_ Fitting himself into coat labs  _ way  _ too big for him. _

_ Of course, the love for cryptids extinguished the desire to wander around the labs pretty fast- that might have had more to do with his dad’s towering stacks of paper work and long nights spent seemingly unaware that Dib was in fact in his lab with him after all, waiting for him to join him at the dinner table. And then Gaz had never liked to play in their father’s lab, and so, time brought him out. _

_ Descending down those steps that night (less than ten hours ago, how, how-), Dib couldn’t quite remember how the conversation had led them here. Something along the lines of, “I suppose it’s time I show you something else, son,” _

_ Wait a minute. He  _ did  _ remember. _

_ Dib didn’t want the Membrane Labs and all that entailed. He wasn’t going to become a head scientist anytime soon and he most certainly wasn’t going to at least assist, intern, even visit. _

_ Looking at the vats, it felt like a threat though Dib was sure, deep within himself, that his father didn’t mean it that way. He meant it in the absolutely blind, absolutely vapid way only he could. Pride. In himself?  _

_ Certainly not in Dib. _

_ His father was standing just a few paces away, the vats emanating a soft blue which cast their shadows long and thin behind them. ‘Certainly a scientist can always try again, son, but you see- you are the third attempt. It’s only - disappointing-’ he shook his head. “I don’t want you to make decisions based on my own thinking, however,” here, his father took his shoulder, but Dib hardly felt it, enraptured by the sight of the glow emanating from the vat before him. “I know you’ve been unhappy…” _

_ Unhappy. _

_ Dib looked up. His father had his hands behind his back. He was looking up at his work behind his glasses, but now he faced Dib. Dib couldn’t see his face, felt like he hadn’t seen it in a while, but there was warmth there, a glowing sense of hope in his father’s eyes that he only ever aimed at his work. _

_ In the middle of Dib’s chest there was a hole. It widened and widened, growing deeper and deeper, and he said, carefully, “Y-you’d rather I-... be someone else?” _

_ His face in his father’s goggles was pale, there were bags beneath his eyes. There was a smudge of dirt under his right eye _

_ “Not a different person - still  _ you! _ Brilliant and full of so much potential… But perhaps with a cleaner slate. Now, son, don’t look so disheartened. It’s really quite a painless procedure-” _

_ Reality caught up to him and wrapped it’s jaws around his neck. “Except that’s EXACTLY what you want!!” His voice tore through his throat, raw and cracking. “I can’t be  _ me,  _ I’ve got to be a spitting image of you! What the fuck- what is  _ WRONG  _ with you, dad all the things I’ve done, the stuff I’ve come to care about-” _

_ “You wouldn’t be haunted by all of your obsessions-” _

_ “Isn’t that- isn’t it okay to have things I love that you don't?” Dib pleaded helplessly. “Can’t I be someone a little bit different from you, I mean, Christ, is it really so unbearable-” _

_ “No, never unbearable, son,” his father’s voice softened and he drew nearer. “I could never think of you that way. But, really… Do you think I don’t notice how  _ you _ feel?” _

_ “How  _ I  _ feel..?” Dib gawked. He wasn’t following. _

_ “Look at you. You look exhausted, like you haven’t slept in days,” _

_ “So?” _

_ “You hardly finished highschool with passing grades. You struggle in your college courses. I know you do. You never answer the phone when I or your sister call… And your habits-” _

_ “What habits?” Dib stumbled away from him, grimacing. _

_ “... I have a sense of smell, Dib,” his father rarely said his name. It came out strange in his mouth, like it was unfamiliar, unwelcome. “You know smoking is bad for you.  _ And  _ drinking.”  _

“ _ How can you smell-” _

_ But Dib remembered he’d brought a flask to his ghoul hunt, that said flask was in his backpack upstairs right now, that said alcohol still burned in his stomach. _

_ When he clamped his mouth shut his father paused, and there was a subtle nod of his head, this self-righteous sort of, ah yes-gesture that Dib knew too well. _

_ “As I said,” his father said, sadly, “you've been unhappy.” _

_ Unhappy. Unhappy. _

_ How about chronically depressed? What about the cigarette burns on his forearm? What about the alcohol in his pantry? The antidepressants in his bathroom cupboard he absolutely did not take as needed? The therapist he hadn’t seen in weeks? _

_ Dib wandered away. He fet sick, like he might vomit. The  _ third attempt.  _ Three lives he would never know, a person he’d been once, who’d shared his name and- what else? Did he obsess over the paranormal, too? Did he look up at the stars and wonder in awe? Did his father look at each of them and shake his head and wonder where it all went wrong? _

_ His mind searched, grappling in the dark. Memories, there was no way he had forgotten everything. But suddenly this hole in the back of his head widened… He could feel that frantic sense of absence. Something was missing, something boundless and expansive like a black hole. Something he’d never touch, like a word on the tip of his tongue but instead it was a precious memory, like the face of a mother long forgotten. He felt nauseous. He felt dizzy. He felt miserable. _

_ Who had he been?  _

_ Who would he be?  _

_ Would he remember how terrified this knowledge had made him feel?  _

_ No, no because you don’t remember it now - but then his mind came to a grinding halt.  _

_ Three times, he had made a decision. His father had presented him with an out, and like he was stepping in front of a train, Dib had  _ taken that out.

_ The body in the vat behind him waited. _

_ Dib stopped at his father’s desk. It was piled high with papers, glasses, vials, and the like. There was a family photo there; he, his father, and his sister. Taken two years ago, at a party his father’s labs had held. Dib was in a wrinkled suit and his sister was in a dress better fit for mourning. His father had a hand on either of their shoulders. No one was smiling. _

_ Dib’s hand wrapped around a little MEMBRANE LABS plaque that lay across his father’s desk. It was bronze and heavy, his father’s name raised in metal. His father knew what he was doing as soon as he lifted it, and he held up his hands and said something rapidly, something Dib didn’t catch, because he was trudging toward the vats and swinging the plaque with all his strength. A white, splintering crack began across it. _

_ “Now, son-” _

_ SLAM! _

_ “-enough of this senseless violence, surely you-” _

_ CRACK! _ _   
_ _ “-can understand a father’s concern-” _

_ “A father’s concern!?” Dib howled, throwing the plaque aside. Water ran from the cracks as a quiet alarm cried out on the vats interface. A red light was flashing. The body within it disgusted him, he wanted to tear the tubes which kept it healthy, functioning, to smash the face in, crack it’s skull- “CONCERN?! At what? Your first FAILED-” he swung his fists at the glass, and it began to split, spewing water, “-EXPERIMENT? I’m just a walking humiliation aren’t I? Your crazed-” he swung again. The glass bit into his fist. “-psychotic, excuse for fucking son!” A third strike and the glass gave. Water spilled forth as an alarm shrieked and- _

  
  


… The light from Tak’s monitors flashed and he was alone, quiet as she worked away, in this tiny, humid room. Where was Zim? Stalking above ground in search for him? Could he possibly corner them here?

Dib stared down at his hands. His gloves were dirty, lumpy on the palms from the bandages beneath. A sliver of skin peeked from his wrists where the sleeve had tugged up. Against soft brown skin he could glimpse just the edge of a scar. Years old, and unfortunately partnered with several others. 

Dib didn’t have suicidal tendencies, or he was at least certain that he didn’t. But then, the late night skirmishes half  _ dunk  _ into the middle of the woods to hunt ghouls ( _ or was it just to be alone..?)  _ was stupid in more ways than one.  _ But that’s just being a risk taker, it’s the foremost rule of paranormal hunting- _

He flexed his hand and stared at the skin stretching over the edge of the scar. Further up that arm, little circular, red marks - cigarette burns. The months drew in on him in slow, sharpening clarity. What had he been  _ doing  _ lately? 

Spending late nights at Zim’s house sprawled on the couch mindlessly watching whatever Gir left on, the later afternoons when Zim would have to coax him out of his apartment. He hadn’t even made that much progress in anything paranormal related. Half the time he just went out because Zim was making him… Or he was alone, inebriated, and very, very depressed…

_You are the third attempt._ Those words had rung and rung and rung in his head and now, it reared its ugly head at him. _Three times_ _you gave up and gave_ in. 

Three times. Three times, he had been essentially reincarnated -  _ cloned again and again -  _ by his  _ father _ \- 

_ I know you’ve been unhappy... _

A sudden sickness swelled up in him. The edges of his vision darkened. Was  _ he  _ somehow different from the other clones? Or had they all reacted similarly? Felt sick with disgust and repulsion at the mere idea… But then, they all eventually gave in. His rapid breaths made his chest ache. He wracked his brain for something, some inkling of a hint, some form of memory but there was only him, just him. Who had he been before? Did it matter? He might as well have simply died.

He was always running away. From his father, from college, from any responsibility regarding Membrane Labs. A place he as proper heir would, his father claimed, remain to him until his sister came of age.  _ Let her have it,  _ he thought, but it felt like signing someone off to a bitter fate. Did  _ Gaz  _ want that? 

“ _ What about Gaz?” _

_ “What about her?”  _ His father had spoken almost innocently. All the water pooling around their feet, and the limp shell that had been spat out like a beached fish.

“ _ Is- is she- … This to..?!” _

_ “Of course she is, and she knows it. Your sister has always been, well, far calmer in these things than you have been, son… Which is why I’ve always offered this option to you… Really it is more my fault than yours… You should rely on a creator to make you as  _ perfect  _ as  _ possible…  _ And it seems every time I’ve tried with you, well, you've come out- a little-”  _ he gestured vaguely. Dib had sputtered.

Gaz was likely his replacement. Maybe it was just sentimentality that kept his father willing to clone him again and bring him into this world, to raise him for a  _ fourth time.  _ Certainly a scientist must be patient, even with his own offspring… 

  
  


“Human,” Tak’s voice startled him. He looked up. One hand was clenched around his middle. “Do not vomit on my carpet.”

Her voice sounded strange. He blinked and found the room was dark, pale blue light ( _ like the vats, all those-)  _ “What?”

“You look green,”

“I-”

“There’s a bucket there.” She pointed, eyes lidded, disinterested . “If you are going to be sick, do it there.”

“I’m not,” he insisted, tugging up his sleeves to his palm and reaching to feel his forehead. The throbbing behind his eyes hadn’t subsided. Against his skin he felt the dried, sticky remnants of the blood from the aliens Zim had skewered. His stomach did a backflip. 

“There’s water over there that  _ won’t  _ melt your skin off,” she added.

Behind the bucket she had earlier indicated, there was a metal, rough sink-like apparatus. It looked far more degraded and rusting than a sink should, and when he turned the spout (which took a while to find), the water that spewed forth was cloudier than he liked. But Tak was right. When he pushed up his glasses, cupped his hands beneath it and splashed his face, scrubbing the blood away, his face didn’t melt off. He scrubbed at his face until it hurt. He hadn’t forgotten he’d been up for almost two days in a row now. His thoughts didn’t even out but they did slow, and he could breathe normally again.

A clone, clone number three for that matter.  _ They chose an out.  _ Would he? If it’d happened twice already, what was stopping a third?

… What would happen if he did agree? His father had called it painless - but what really irked him was the endless horizon that followed. A _new him_. One that didn’t remember. One that would begin anew, in a new town, without all this baggage clinging to his spine, he’d be good as _new-_

_ What about Zim?  _

He thought of the anger and hurt on Zim’s face in the alleyway earlier, his hands beneath Dib’s in the bar, the way he kept side glancing at him.  _ Count to three with Zim.  _ All that grinning-

Maybe he recalled, in the crannies of his mind, a moment in Zim’s base that fateful night when things had calmed down and he had fallen asleep. It was hazy and confused, but he could feel the growing cool warmth that was Zim, pressed so close beside him like he wanted their ribs to grip each other. In the haze, Dib had been faintly aware of it, though not solidly enough to feel embarrassed, only wrap an arm over Zim and fall back asleep… Listening to the slow way Zim breathed… Perhaps wondering if he were awake and watching, content…

Tak made a noise and suddenly the room sharpened, the monitors were blinking, and he was shakily lowering himself to sit against a tower of shelves beside the sink, watching the monitors from here. His body ached.

When he cleared his throat it was weak sounding. “So, what are you doing, anyway? Right now?”

Tak gestured vaguely at the monitors. “Downloading all of this information and sending it to my ship…” She paused a moment, added, “... and to the Resisty,”

Dib leaned his head against the shelves. He hadn’t looked hard at anyone else on that Wanted poster, but he was beginning to theorize just what Tak might’ve been on there for.

“Zim’s wanted for colluding with them,  
Tak made a noncommittal sound.

“Thought he loved the empire,”

“He does,” she said curtly. “But he’s cut off, and he needs weapons from somewhere,”  
Dib squinted. “Have you… Spoken to Zim recently?”

One of Tak’s antennae twitched and she turned suddenly in her chair to peer around it and glare at him. “He certainly keeps  _ you  _ in the loop,”

Dib frowned. His stomach dropped. “I thought  _ you  _ loved the empire as well,” he muttered.

“Well, you thought wrong, human,” she twisted in her chair and faced her monitors again, adding nothing else. Dib sighed. He stretched his legs out in front of him, staring at the tips of his boots.

His right foot nudged a covered grated beside him. It creaked. A moment later he heard the shuffle of something, like blankets; and then a tiny, thin green arm was reaching out of the grate and reaching for his shoelace-

Dib lifted his foot, panic spiking. “What the fuck!”

Tak whirled, “What? What is it?”

“There’s a fucking- thing in that box-”

Tak’s eyes swung to the grate, and then dulled. “Oh, those are just the smeets,” she went back to typing.

Dib stared at her, dumbfounded. “The  _ what? _ ”

Tak clicked her tongue, irritated. “Take off the stuid blanket,”

Dib stared at the grate. A scratchy, grease stained blanket covered it nearly entirely. Dib reached, pinched the blanket between his fingers and lifted it…

He was greeted by six or seven smeets, arranged in a cuddle session in a pile of blankets, the lining of which burned red as if heated - and it probably was. They blinked up at him, curious. One had left the pile to press its face into the grate and angle it’s overly large head up at him. Dib stared back as it reached to stretch- then began the arduous task of attempting to climb up the grate to greet him. It’s flesh was lime green, it’s eyes berry-purple, it’s mouth a tiny line.

Dib thought he might cry. “That guy thought Zim had stolen them,”

“Irken’s are notorious for misidentifying each other,”

“What are you gonna do with them?” The climbing Irken smeet, with it’s violet eyes and glowing, tiny PAK (how did those work at this age? How were PAK’s exchanged throughout their growth?), was halfway up the grate when it began to lose it’s footing. Dib made a sound, worried, reached and caught it before it fell… Immediately it was clambering up his wrist, like a lizard. It’s tiny hands tapered into sharp, thin claws, like kittens. Down below, the rest were unfurling themselves and making tiny, reptilian noises angling to touch him. The sound they made was throaty, like the  _ pew-pew  _ sound baby crocodiles made.

“The Resisty has programs and contacts which can raise them properly,” Tak glanced back at him. “Did you think  _ I  _ would raise them? Disgusting. I can’t stand smeets,”

Dib was trying to unhook the smeet’s claws from his jacket to cradle it in his arms. The little thing was so weirdly _cool_ to the touch, like clay. It’s skin was smooth. In his arms, it moved to press against him. He wondered if Zim, in all his skintight clothes, dressed the way he did for warmth. He was always in jackets and long sleeves. He must get cold so easily, and if his PAK wasn’t working right now, then he must be freezing...

Dib’s mind was wandering. He cleared his throat again. “I’d thought you were pretty cold hearted.” Tak said nothing. “Maybe you could convince Zim to join-”

“Never,” she said, immediately. “Too stubborn.”

Dib frowned. “I don’t know, after all this he might be easier to convince,”

Tak scoffed. “This is hardly the worst thing they’ve done to him.”

That couldn’t be true. This was an entire revocation of bodily rights. His leaders had practically made him  _ brain dead.  _ Certainly this went too far even in Zim’s book, if only because it made him  _ not Zim. _

“... I doubt that’s true.”

Tak continued typing before suddenly she turned in her chair again. She was glaring, eyes narrowed. “I do not like Zim. I have never liked Zim, and I  _ will never  _ like Zim. Do you understand?”

Dib blinked. “S...Sure…”

“However.” Tak raised a hand at something behind him. He angled his head up. A peeling Irken empire poster, of the Armada symbol and some message in bombastic Irken. “Decades of brainwashing, of propaganda, of mindless, mindnumbing torment tends to make creatures insufferable. For example,  _ Zim.  _ I was lucky in my  _ lack of luck.  _ A raid of Moo-ping 10 involving the Resisty allowed me an opportunity in my freedom, in exchange for Resisty servitude. I hated it. Every second of it. I despised them, angled for every chance to kill them and escape. The chances were numerous. I felt that if I fled and found my leaders, I could explain myself thoroughly for mercy, show that I did not serve the resistance willingly, and even offer up intel. Isn’t that despicable?” Dib said nothing. Tak dropped her hand, frowning. “It is very  _ Irken of me  _ to betray the very people who had saved my life…” 

A brief silence fell. Dib shifted uncomfortably. She wanted him to ask her a question. The Irken smeet in his hands had curled up against him and was breathing slowly. It’s eyes had closed, it’s feet and hands opening and closing on the grips they made digging into his jacket. He was stroking it’s head as gently as he dared. 

“Why didn’t you leave?”

Tak’s gaze looked halfway haunted. Upset. Her mouth was curled into distaste. “Because I was scared. You see, I had been given orders to remain on a planet called Dirt, and act as a janitorial Irken. I couldn’t stand that. I was meant to be more. I knew that then. So I fled, I built a ship, I stole a SIR unit and reprogrammed it to serve me. I hunted down Zim. I tried to steal his mission. The Tallest’s were impressed, until I failed. But that was less important. I’d defied orders. There is nothing worse than an Irken defying orders, and then failing to follow through with defying them…” A second silence, as she seemed to mull over an unpleasant memory. “I told you I wasn’t given a trial on Moo-Ping-10… That wasn’t entirely true. After my arrest, my PAK was reencoded and extensively researched to find where, among all those power nodes and miniscule wiring, I had concocted the plan in the first place - not in destroying your planet, but in merely fleeing Dirt. It was horrific. You’re conscious the entire time. It feels like -... No. It’s indescribable.” She cleared her throat. “You’re probably wondering how Zim fits into all this,” 

Tak had always been the methodical, carbon copy of  _ efficiency  _ that Dib had always theorized an Irken soldier was likely  _ supposed to look like.  _ Zim’s technology was too sophisticated to explain the hyperactive disaster that was him. Meeting Tak had solidified this theory.

Carefully, Dib said, “I know his leaders despise him,”

“And yet even that is an understatement… Has Zim really told you nothing of his trial? All three of them?”

Wearily, “Zim never tells me anything.”

Tak hummed. “I don’t know what happened with the first trial, wasn’t there… Heard a Control Brain malfunctioned and went down the second time though, which is pretty big news.” Tak looked down, at nothing in particular on the floor. Reached and plucked something off the floor and held it up. A bit of metal that shimmered like an oil spill in the light. “Then there was another one. Or. Well. Not really. No, it wasn’t a trial. An execution,”

Dib felt his blood run cold. “An execution?  _ Why _ ? For the control brain thing?”

“Precisely. And plenty else. The list is endless,”

“I’ve seen it,”

“Pretty appalling, huh?” Tak looked back to glare at him, “Makes you wonder why I’m even helping him right now, doesn’t it?”

She wasn’t smiling, her face unreadable. “... It does…”

Tak’s eyes twitched. She scowled, then finally turned back to her work. Said nothing more. 

“Hey, wait, hold on, you can’t just leave it there-”

“Yes I can.”

Dib made an indignant sound. The Irken smeet gainst him whined. “What if you’re just making a chip that’ll make it worse? Now I don’t trust you at all-” 

“Why do you help him?”

“I don’t know!” He blurted, then gawked. She’d asked so quickly. He didn’t know why he did half of what he did, he didn’t know why in high school the fights got less volatile, the physical ones less violent. He didn’t know why Zim had started sitting beside him, why he went to Zim’s house sometimes when he felt at his worst, why he let Zim climb through his window at his apartment, why, in fact, he usually left that particular window open so Zim didn’t have to struggle with the lock.

He didn’t know why he liked it when Zim grabbed him by the hood of his jacket and yanked him close, or why he liked it when Zim brought him out of his apartment and rambled about nothing worth listening to.

Tak was watching him again. He looked away. “I just see glimpses of him,” Dib said quietly. “These moments when he isn't a soldier…” 

He couldn’t go on. Something was closing up his throat. He didn’t want to say it, humor it. Tak didn’t seem interested in tormenting him about it. Her expression was still impossible to read, and he was certain Irken’s understood little about the broad strokes of human emotion, even emancipated ones. Nonetheless, she lifted her chin

“When they captured him the third time, they were torturing him and broadcasting it while they laughed,” Tak said abruptly. Dib immediately clapped his mouth shut. “I mean, he deserved it. Of course he did. He killed a Control Brain, whether he meant to or not, he killed two Tallest’s, once again, whether he meant to, or not, his arrogance, his- ignorance it’s- absolutely putrid.  _ Completely  _ unbecoming of an Irken Invader.” She tsked. “But…. I was in the Resisty by then and they read out his verdict and asked for last words and they’d fucked him so badly I don’t think he could even speak… PAK wiping is an arduous process, human, it’s not a  _ zap  _ and then you’re gone. The PAK is too complicated for that, and even the Control Brains aren’t that powerful… It’s a common torture tactic among rogue Irkens. Makes your throat burn. You can’t remember where you are or where you’ve been… Your name or your mission or… Why you’re there, why everyone is laughing at you…”

Zim’s paranoia was always on par with a tin-foil hat consprirator, but the way he’d whimpered on the medical bay, eyes scanning around him, his fingers laced in between Dib’s... 

_ You can’t promise that. _

Dib felt so helpless. 

Tak was silent, too. She had stopped working, perhaps recalling that broadcast.

Through the haze (and quite stupidly), Dib said, “They tried wiping your PAK, too?”

Tak flinched. “An Irken within the Resistance is a thorn in the Armada’s side.” She gestured to the monitors behind her. “As it should be.”

“What happened after Zim’s execution? I mean, he’s- obviously still here..?”

Tak shrugged. “I don’t know. The feed went out.”

“The feed?”

“The broadcast ended. Didn’t get mentioned again. Figured it was an issue with the Resisty’s connection, given it was an illegal one. Guess Zim just broke out somehow and they cut the transmission before anyone could see. The silence would just be taken as confirmation that Zim was dead and his death was insginificant enough to go undocumented. It certainly worked on me.” She turned around again to her work, tapping away. Dib watched the monitors, but he didn’t see them.

So Zim had barely fled the Tallest’s with his life, his PAK half ruined, his body tattered. That explained why Dib never saw his ship leave. Likely several Irken’s had been dispatched to apprehend him quickly and efficiently. Zim must’ve stolen a ship and crash landed on Earth. Maybe he’d even returned the very evening Dib had begun sneaking into his base. But then, what had happened to the base?

Dib cleared his throat. “I think I know when he was caught like that, what day’s it was,”

Tak made an uninterested sound.

“His base was shut down. How-”

“Like I said, he was cut off.” One of the monitors made a sound and the tablet in her hands lit up. A little spidery metal leg stuck out and procured before her a thin, USB-looking object. She snatched it away and stuffed it into a pocket. “Now, for your bargain,”

He sighed, “Oh, yeah,” 

“You will apprehend Zim,”

“ _ Wait, what? _ ” Dib jolted as Tak unfurled herself from the chair and stood up. She lifted her cowl from the back of the chair and threw it over her shoulders.

“Apprehend, capture, capacitate, however you would like to word it-”

“You’re not coming with me?!” As soon as he said it, he bit it back. Like a frantic eleven-year-old being left at the checkout stand at the grocery store. 

“What? Afraid your stupid  _ boyfriend _ will tear you in two?”

He couldn’t even be mad about the nickname. “ _ Yes! _ ”

Tak’s grin split her face further. “Well, put him to sleep then,” her PAK procured a syringe. “Consider it a test.”

“A test for fucking  _ what _ ?” Dib hissed, staring at her, the syringe, which was chrome and silvery and full of a pink-ish fluid. 

Tak shrugged. “You figure it out.” She tossed it and he nearly lost the Irken smeet scrambling for it. The creature clung to his arm as he caught the syringe. “Stick it wherever you can and he’ll be out like a light, then haul him onto your ship and fly home. Before you land, I’ll contact his ship and have the antidote sent to your through there." She extended her hand. "Now. The chip."

Dib’s eyes narrowed as he dug into his pants pocket. Mimi's chip was cold against his fingers. “How the hell are you going to  _ send me  _ the antidote-”

“What, are you expecting it to be in a  _ vial?  _ It’ll just be a line of  _ code  _ on another chip.” 

_ All this fucking trouble for a line of code?  _ Tak must’ve read the disbelief on his face because she rolled her eyes. “The Resisty has been aware of this prototype since day one, we’ve been ready to combat it.” Dib shook his head, muttering. He dropped the chip into her palm, thought of Gir in his backpack, of the robot skewered and limp on Zim's PAK leg.

She'd said he'd be an easy fix... As long as his chip was undamaged - or as undamaged as something like Gir could remain....

For an instant, Tak glanced at the chip, a look of fondness steeling her hard features before she let a PAK leg take the piece away. Then, she drew forward and reached to pluck the smeet from his arm. It came away surprisingly calmly, as if it recognized her scent or touch, letting her drop it delicately into the crate. She threw the blanket back over it and hauled it up against her chest. He caught how one arm went protectively around it, afraid it might fall.

“What if he cuts me in half before I reach him? What then?”

Tak shrugged. “I might be helping you, but I never said I liked you.”

"I thought you cared about whether this worked or not," Dib muttered, "You know. For the _Resisty,_ or whatever,"

She clicked her serpentine tongue, the hint of a smile tugging at her thin mouth. "Irken's have a hard time forgetting petty squabbles," and she turned deftly on her heel, stalking toward the staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SORRY for disappearing. I had this chapter unfinished for MONTHS, and all the terrible happenings around us kept me from writing... But some kind words from you guys really inspired me to come back, so! I hope you are all healthy and safe and doing well. I can't promise consistency but I think this fic might keep me sane in the coming weeks and months.   
> In the meantime, if you're interested, I put together a playlist for this fic! The music is both atmospheric and plot-related... Also edgy and gay, what can I say!  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4UoinvloFKYBMiw23Ho2zC?si=aVjzKY2oT02MhQDWyJNYaw
> 
> Take care, and thank you all so much for reading! <3 <3


	8. a lot can happen in twenty or so minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there all! hope every1 is heathy and safe. I'm certainly in a fantastic mood bc oatebird on Instagram created some gorgeous fanart for this fic here https://www.instagram.com/p/CFam28TlSLh/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet !!!!!!!!! firstly, thank u again oatie, I am literally... so honored........ you made me finish this chapter SO THANKS FOR THAT!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 Hope you all enjoy this one! It's shorter but we're nearing the midpoint of this fic (as you might've noticed, this fic is gonna be longer than ten chapters... there's just too much to tie up LOL). Thanks for waiting, thank u again oatie, and enjoy! <3

Dib trudged through the city with his head down. His senses were on high alert, his heart drumming in his ears. Every shadow was a tiny, green one darting for him and swiping to claw him in two. He’d pass a meat shop and the sound of a cleaver against the counter would make him start. Someone shouted and his blood ran cold and he stopped dead in the middle of the streaming crowd until someone shoved him forward…

But Zim didn’t appear, the crowds didn’t thin, and the syringe hidden in the lining of his coat felt icy hot. Suddenly, to his right something grabbed his hand, made him whirl to face it, and his free hand flew to his jacket, his voice caught in his throat-

But it was just a scrawny blue alien who spoke in a garbled language asking for money. Dib muttered that he didn’t have any and scurried away. It felt like something sharp had swung up his chest. He trembled.  _ I’m gonna die out here. If not because of Zim, then a heart attack. _

The fog had thickened as a wind raked the toxic waste out of the underbelly of Meekltheroth and into the air. The buildings overhead swayed dangerously, but nobody seemed bothered.

Dib pushed his palms into his eyes and heaved a sigh, stumbling… He wanted to sleep. Climb into bed and remain there until all this blew over. He could, reasonably, sneak into the ship and crawl into the pilot's seat and rest. He was sure Zim didn’t retain the mental capacities to sneak in.  _ Unless the computer just lets him in on principal.  _ Wouldn’t that be a sick joke. At least it’d end quickly.

Dib dropped his hands at his sides. Even prepared as he was, he felt apathetic - and who did that hurt?  _ Well if this all goes wrong then we’re both dead. _

Still, there was a thin shadow of dread gathering in the corners of his mind, like he already knew how this was going to end...

Tak had led him quietly out of the basement-like hideout she had secured herself, carrying the smeets in the covered crate. She’d warned that Zim, likely, would be seeking out something familiar (“ _ which is why he’s chasing you,”  _ she’d grinned at him in the alleyway). Which meant it was likely Zim had fled to his ship, or the bar, or who knew where else - Zim knew Meekleroth, and Dib had no idea how “familiar” this planet was to him in any meaningful way. He had slipped into the bar, peering frantically over the crowded space for a short Irken and had no luck. He’d looked also for the Irken Zim had met hours earlier, and not seen him either. In fact, now that Tak was gone and he was left waiting on  _ her  _ to contact  _ him,  _ he regretted not asking about the Irken  _ What had it’s name been? Scream? Shriek? _

Without  _ ‘Shriek’,  _ the trail ran cold, not counting Zim’s ship. And if Zim wasn’t there when he reached it…

Far ahead, through the smog, he could see the heavy black stone gates of Meekleroth, the towering beacons that blinked occasionally to prevent collisions with passing air travel, and the very gates Zim had led him through earlier that morning. Dib’s hands ached. He thought of Zim’s claws wrapped through them as he tugged Dib through the crowd. The way his gloves felt, synthetic leather pressed tight against his strange, green flesh. The lack of warmth which should’ve made touch unwelcome although Dib had become so accustomed to it he didn’t think to flinch anymore.

If either of them died here, no one would know about it. His father wouldn’t even be surprised, would likely chalk up his disappearance to a frantic sort of run-away. Zim’s absence wouldn’t help. Gaz might think he finally sorted through all those complicated, hormone-driven feelings he totally didn’t have for Zim, and figured things out. Maybe she’d even be glad for him, while his corpse rotted in a mangled pile at the bottom of Meekleroth’s great spires.

Dib shivered. 

_ Would dad wake up a clone if I left? Risk there being two of us running around? _

For an instant, he thought he might be sick, and so he picked up his pace, weaving through the crowd. He thought of Zim. He thought of all the shit he’d say to him when Zim was fixed… Then found that the anger was simply not there. Numbness and instinctual adrenaline had smoothed out his anger. He wasn’t sure he really  _ could  _ be angry anymore, and if he was, which part was he supposed to be angry at? That Zim was still willing to bend to the will of his abusive, murderous leaders, or that he’d finally broken their highschool truce? 

_ What about the fact that you’re still trying to save his life? That’s pretty fucking annoying. _

The ire sparked up just for a moment… And then he was thinking of the latch on his window in his apartment, Zim climbing through it on his worst days and sure, he’d get annoying, he’d ramble, forcing Dib into half-clean clothes and complaining about the state of his hair before shoving him out the door and into the overly lit street below. Thinking of Zim parading him around until he forgot he’d been near-rotting in his apartment, alone, usually halk-drunk, and fatally depressed, made him angry for a new reason. For two, actually.

The first being that he’d let Zim do this for him so many times without ever thanking him - without ever even saying it for what it was.

The second being that  _ Zim  _ never said it for what it was, which didn’t make sense because Zim loved attention.  _ So what was it then? _

His own thoughts made him start a little.  _ You wanna call it love? Are you fucking fifteen? _

Dib blushed, despite himself. Chances were Zim wasn’t capable of love.  _ Loyalty,  _ yes sure, and maybe Dib could take advantage of that. Shift his services from the Tallest’s and the empire into-

_ You? Make him loyal to  _ you? 

_ YOU? _

He was staring wide eyed, sightlessly ahead now. What would that be like? He was getting close, wasn’t he? Zim  _ did  _ protect him - from other aliens itching for a fight - and from himself. And maybe Dib could teach him a thing or two about how humans showed loyalty.

Zim was a quick learner.

He blinked rapidly, chewing on his tongue, chastising himself for thinking of teaching Zim to waltz when he literally had the equivalent of a  _ brain parasite  _ and very likely  _ wouldn’t live to see tomorrow.  _

Dib passed the gates easily, the smog obscuring the docks and swaying rock formations ahead. Glowing, green fungi clung to the black gates metal, the same he’d seen in Tak’s hideout. Red light from the beacon overhead blared down against his skin. It flashed brilliantly in the night.

_ What if Zim isn’t at the ship? _

Tak had warned him that his time was short. With three hours already lost and two dedicated to flying back home, that left an hour both to find Zim  _ and _ save his life - assuming  _ Tak  _ also did her part on time.  _ Which means you need to be in the ship when she contacts you.  _ Suddenly, he was swearing, kicking himself mentally as he reached behind himself and felt against his spine the sharp edges of Gir’s body stuffed into his backpack. He swung it around his shoulder, dug the SIR unit out, and glanced at the tablet.

Zim’s vitals had changed a bit since last he saw them; his pulse rate had gone up considerably, and there was a line indicating a troubling amount of blood loss that continued to go unchecked. Dib forced his eyes from it and swiped out of that, towards a main screen he’d seen Tak using in her hidden room. The interface was busy and crammed with an insane amount of text that he scanned, searching, searching… Until he found the words  _ DETECT LOCATION.  _ He tapped it, and the next message read:  _ INFORMATION UNKNOWN. SEEK MAIN COMPUTER. _

_ The computer in the ship.  _ He stood up, holding Gir to his chest as he swung his backpack over his shoulder. He’d go to the ship, determine Zim’s location and… Well, he could fly there. That seemed reasonable. It’d use up less energy, and it’d be far faster. He thought of the torn wires within, but there was no way the ship wouldn’t have repaired it by now. He drew in a breath, hot and stifled under the mask he’d begun sweating under, then took a step forward.

He’d left Tak’s hide out feeling like eyes were boring into his spine. Tak had told him not to worry. Her contact - apparently a fellow Vortian Resisty member - had told her that Zim’s movements had last been spotted somewhere near the bar - likely following Dib’s scent.

“ _ Is he just slicing through people?”  _ Dib had been a little horrified. Aliens were hard to mourn - instincts made it difficult to empathize, what with their lack of human characteristics, or even animal-like features to relate to. But still, they could scream, writhe, and bleed. 

“ _ He just said he was on the move,”  _ she shrugged, uninterested.

Dib had wondered at her as she went. She was still certainly  _ Tak.  _ Cunning, bored, methodical. Her lack of care in regards to the inhabitants of Meekleroth seemed less like cruelty and more like ambivalence. He wondered if she cared deeply for the goals of the Resisty. If taking this chip from Zim was about rescuing another Irken, or simply stealing information for the Resisty.

Clearly saving  _ Zim  _ had nothing to do with it. 

In his hands the tablet made a sound.  _ DETECTING. DETECT- ERROR. SEEK MAIN COMPUTER. _

He sighed, picking up his pace. His pulse was a frantic drum.

_ When this is over-  _ the thought was angry, dedicated, quick… until it trailed away and dissolved because Dib didn’t know what came next, if this was only breakdown number one-hundred-and-three, if this was not a true breaking point but instead a death race. Dib didn’t even notice he was halfway across the bridge, the smog kicking up all around him. Zim couldn’t change, how could he? He was a child soldier made cog in a massive empire. He would feel rejected and then act out again, seeking out validation from a near-parental figure that was beyond losing patience with him. 

But Tak had made it out. 

The tablet again sputtered suddenly;  _ ERROR. DETECTING. DETECTING- _

_ LOCATION DETECTED. _

A map took up the screen and he saw the bridge, long, stretching toward the ship at one end. He saw Gir’s location, in his arms, in the middle of the bridge, and then at the other, a blinking red dot.

Dib felt his heart sink, swiveling on his heel at the same moment.

The fog had thickened although it couldn't completely obscure the dark silhouette at the other end of the bridge. Dib stepped back. It looked like a strange and slender spider, standing statue-still on the other side. He managed to slide his backpack off, put Gir and the tablet away. The silhouette didn’t move.  _ Can he see me? Does he know I’m- _

Maddeningly fast, the silhouette ripped through the fog. Zim was rushing him, boots skidding on the damp bridge surface. Dib stumbled rapidly back, heart seizing as he thought  _ how, how the hell did  _ he  _ find  _ me-?!

His mind found time to think only momentarily of the blood on his face, hands, when Zim’s PAK legs activated and he was swinging a PAK leg down to piercing Dib through the face. Dib had time only to duck and dodge, sliding under him as he came. Now he was crawling backward as Zim ripped around, fumbling for the syringe or a gun or a knife or-

Dib’s fingers hooked around the hilt of a knife and panic made him grab it from his jacket as he managed to find his feet, nearly stumbling aside as he did. He tried to slash Zim once, who deftly moved aside, teeth set into a fierce grimace, snarling. His eyes were hard, dark slits trained on Dib, their fuschia dark and cloudy as if he’d taken something which might make him fall asleep. Dib dared to move in to catch Zim in the arm with the knife and pin him to the bridge, his other hand slipping into his jacket to wrap around the syringe-

Zim dodged this swing by hooking his arms over the bridge ledge and flipping backwards over it. 

“ZIM,  _ NO- _ ” Dib ran forward, peering stupidly over the ledge into the thick green fog below. His other hand had wrapped around the syringe put not yet revealed it. Wind caught in his hair, brushed up against his cheek, cold, a ghost's hand.

He heard the sound of PAK legs clambering up the other side behind him in time to spin around and drop, but not fast enough for the tip of a PAK leg to swing and hook under his mask, grazing his skin as he jerked backwards, the strap tearing as Zim landed across from him. Zim flung the mask away, over the side where it disappeared into the green. A second PAK leg swung down, grazing the top of Dib’s head, sticking into the bridge. In the same moment, Dib sucked in a breath, thought,  _ what if I hit an artery, what if it doesn’t work, what if he stabs he when I get near him, what if he-  _ and rushed Zim, plunging the syringe into the base of his neck, his free hand clutching Zim’s shoulder to shove him backwards. Two PAK legs had swung up to skewer him as he drew near, but Tak hadn’t been lying; the serum worked near instantly. 

Zim made a strangled, wet noise in the back of his throat, eyes dulling. He stiffened before becoming limp, knees buckling. Dib caught him clumsily, catching him under his arms and heaving him weakly up, caught off guard by the sudden weight against him. All around them, Zim’s PAK legs collapsed like needles tied to thin strings.

Dib froze. Neither of them moved. He waited for Zim to snap awake and clamber up his body and slash his throat with extended claws… but the moment never came.

He exhaled, panting, felt the wind make the bridge creak. A stream of thin blood ran from the line Zim had torn into his face. He reached, trembling. The gash wasn’t very deep. He still held Zim close to him, and he peered over his bloodied shoulder at his PAK, pulsing a dangerous red. Heat came off of it in waves.

Dib could feel Zim’s ragged breaths, his thudding pulse. His flesh was feverishly hot. He didn’t wake. Steeling himself, Dib carefully got to his knees, lying Zim down to see his face.

Zim’s eyes were closed. Unconscious, sweat and blood clinging to his skin. Now that he was still, Dib could see the gash in his shoulder where the smeet selling Irken had run him through. 

His uniform was stiff with blood, darkening the fuschia color all the way to his midsection. He touched near the hole in the uniform where the blood was darkest, then reached up, took Zim’s jaw. Felt the thin bones beneath it… And then gathered him up and pulled him close to his chest, bridal-style, as he got to his feet.

He was nearly upright when his chest was overtaken by a sudden sharp feeling that tore up his throat as he inhaled. The cavity of his chest felt like it was shuddering, and his knees buckled beneath him. He reached up to grip his shirt, his breath coming ragged, short, and he gasped, feeling like he was suddenly breathing through a straw. The breeze brushed against his skin, the thick smog obscuring the immediate exit on either side of the bridge momentarily-

_ The mask..!  _ Clutching Zim, he floundered to find it before he recalled it’d been thrown over the bridge. He looked left, to right, suddenly confused, terrified. Which way had he come? Which way was the ship? The thundering of his heart would’ve woken Zim up under any other circumstances, pressed thisclose against him. The coughing wracked his body as he brought up his arm to breath against. It did little to stave off the feeling of suffocation. Six agonizing seconds later and the smog cleared enough to see the other end of the bridge, and further, the ship. His fists crumpled the thick stretchy fabric of Zim’s uniform.  _ Get up. Get up. Get up, get up, get upgetup get UP _ . His chest squeezed and he winced, as he hauled the Irken and himself up. Zim was, as usual, deceptively light, swinging into Dib’s weight suddenly enough to make him stumble. He was gasping, half jogging, half stumbling down the bridge. The bridge was at least forty or so feet across. He could hold his breath, at least he was near certain he could…. With Zim’s added weight he could still jog… But the burning in his chest made it impossible to even try. The bridge’s dip hardly registered beneath his feet. He reached the other side, kicking up dust.

_ If the ship hasn’t repaired itself yet- _

“Computer!” He rasped. It came out week, and brittle. “ _ Hey!” _

The voot cruisers shield flew up in response, the dashboard lighting awake as he clambered over it and onto the tile. The lights clicked on instantly. “Get us off-... this ...f-fucking planet,” he managed, stumbling for the medical bays.

“ _ Don’t tell me what to do,” _ the computer muttered as the shield fell down. Dib lurched to the side, gripping Zim closer as the ships thrusters shifted and burst. In the hallway, he fell painfully to one knee, Zim’s head held close to his chest as he felt the floor beneath him flip. Perhaps Zim’s computer had the decency to recognize urgency when it concerned it’s Master; before he could get back to his feet the ship was off the ground. 

The lights in the medical room clicked on one by one, blasting the room with angry white light. Dib struggled with Zim’s disengaged PAK legs and his limp body as he lay him along the nearly upright gurney.  _ Tie him up,  _ Tak had warned. It felt cruel. Catching his ragged breath, Dib gripped either side of the gurney, hovering over Zim as the ship lurched again, breaking through the atmosphere and making his stomach flip. He finally noticed the acrid sweet stench of blood and sweat soaking through Zim’s uniform and he was flung again into Zim’s dilapidated base, the Armada symbol blinking behind him... Zim was missing a glove, and the other was missing the index finger, revealing a bloodied, torn nail. Zim’s breath was shallow. There was a claw mark along either of his closed eyes, and a line of drying blood ran from the corner of his mouth. Dirt clung to his damp skin. The collar of his uniform was in disarray. His right antennae was pinched at the tip as if it’d been caught by something and torn away.

Dib realized he was too close. If Zim woke up he’d bite his nose off. He’d tear out his throat. His own breath was ragged, tearing threads in the middle of his chest as a coppery taste made itself known in the back of his throat. He was exhausted. Now that he’d stopped having to run, his legs ached, threatening to collapse beneath him. A migraine throbbed behind his skull and his chest burned with increasing fervor. He leaned forward. Pressed his ear to Zim’s chest and heard the strange, triple-drumbeat of his organs as they strained under the pressure of the chip ruining him from within-

Another coughing fit wracked him and he hid his mouth, lurching to the side as he did. It felt like he was shredding the walls of his throat. Dib stumbled backward until it subsided and he leaned forward, gripping his knees. 

Three drops of dark blood dribbled before his feet. Begrudgingly, he wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, ignoring the blood-smeared there, and stumbled forward. Dib reached up and found snakes of black wiring hanging over his head. He recognized the PAK connectors easily and brushed Zim’s PAK legs away, wondering why they hadn’t disengaged yet on their own, finding the topmost port of his PAK. The medical bay activated instantly, flashing first green, blue, then finally red where it remained, announcing in Irken,  _ SYSTEM VITALS CRITICAL. SEEK CONTROL BRAINS IMMEDIATELY. _

After a second, wracking coughing fit that left his eyes watering, he gripped the gurney and watched the tablet attempt to stabilize. Overhead, the computer announced, “ _ Mmmmmaybe you should consider hooking yourself up as well-” _

Dib ignored this, rushing next to the tall storage closets Zim had earlier gifted him with so many weapons. He found rope, thick and black. He tied Zim, grimacing as he tightened his thin arms against his sides, binding next his legs and ankles to the gurney. The PAK legs he tied doubly tight, and as he did so, he found the legs themselves weren't even properly disengaged. Some poked out halfway, and other had scrapped badly along the sides of the PAKs ports. Not only that, but several weapons had tried popping out with them. As if the PAK legs had gotten caught in everything on their way out. What appeared to be a gun and knife-like contraption needed some shoving back into one of the port openings, grinding and clicking against the metal as Dib winced. He wondered if that could hurt. As he did so, the alien swiss-army-knife that Zim had cooed over earlier that morning tumbled out of one of the ports, clattering onto the tile. Funny. Visiting the vendors felt like thirty years ago. How Zim's PAK managed to hold all of this shit at once... Dib didn't dwell on it, reaching down, and shoving the thing into his pocket for later use.

Zim’s vitals hadn’t changed on the screens, remaining erratic and confused. The bay announced,  _ SYSTEM VITALS CRITICAL. SEEK CONTROL BRAIN IMMEDIATELY.  _

Zim’s chest rose and fell. His face was neither peaceful nor strained, torn between some troubled middle. Another message appeared.  _ REPORT READING TO THE MASSIVE? _

Dib declined that offer immediately.

He stumbled away from the gurney a second time as the tablet bean slowly to report the long list of ailments, injuries, and misgivings in Zim’s biology. He found a cloth, soaked it in the sink with filtered, clean, warm water, and wrung it damp, then pushed a standing medical tray stocked with scalpes, auze, and medical tape toward the bay. There was a short, white stool that rolled nearby as well He dropped into it, exhaustion climbing up his legs and making him feel like he might not be able to get up if he tried. He pushed himself close and watched Zim. Then, he took the cloth and gently began dabbing at his forehead, coming down to scrub gently at the blood that had gathered at his mouth. The dirt came next, then the sweat through it returned just as quickly. His vitals indicated overheating. Should he try to make him drink something? Would he be able to swallow it? Did it matter? The lights overhead felt like they were boring into his eye sockets. With effort, Dib undid the cloak, and then next the high collar of Zim’s uniform. He took scissors from the tray to cut away the section of his uniform where the blood was crusting worst. The strange fabric stuck to Zim’s skin, making a sickly  _ skkkkk  _ sound as he peeled it as gently away as he could, stopping just where the rope began.

The flesh there was soaked with blood, and sweating. The gash from the smeet sellers knife was small, precise but still pumping blood in slow pulses. 

The bay was there to handle simple injuries such as this… But for some reason Dib’s trembling fingers went back for the tray, as he peered at the injury for any pieces of broken metal or glass and dirt. He folded a square piece of gauze several times over, then gently pressed it into the wound, wincing at the cloth rapidly soaked. 

He froze when Zim’s breath hitched momentarily. His eyes fluttered but did not open. His vitals bumped upwards, then leveled out, and slowly, his breathing returned to a shallow sway. He did this two, three, four times until the bleeding slowed enough for the piece to be fixed to Zim. He eyed his handiwork. His eyes hurt. His hands had been trembling the entire time. Every time he swallowed it was tiny thumbtacks and needles tumbling down his throat, but he’d held back on coughing as best he could.

Dib reached forward. The pads of his fingertips found Zim’s forehead first, then his palm. The skin there was soft, smooth, uncharacteristically warm… Though still not as warm as a human's. What kept Irkens so cold? Was Irk hot? That was how that was supposed to work, at least on Earth… But then Zim had complained also of Earth’s sun and the blaring Summer heats declaring it unbearable. Maybe Irk was cold, made of ice. Maybe, like Jupiter, it’d been in an eternal storm, raining metal against the hulls of Irk’s finest ships. Zim had said once that Irkens were trained underground. Like insects.

His hand traveled down to the sharp edge of Zim’s cheek. Whether he aged like a human or not, time had shifted the angles of his face, just as it had to Dib. There was a hardness - an exhaustion - in his face that hadn’t been there when they’d been children. Was it too much to say he’d lost a certain spring to his step? That Earth’s annihilation didn’t seem to excite him as much anymore?   
Was he homesick? Did he miss space? Irk? 

Would he ever feel inclined to leave?

In highschool Zim had complained often of the changes he saw in his classmates. The acne that disgusted him, the shifts in body shapes. The heights - he might've hated that the most, especially when Dib finally had his own growth spurt at age sixteen and begun towering over the Irken. Meanwhile their arguments became less pointed for domination and more nebulous, vague and personable; then they were less volatile, morphing into something more akin to banter which shifted slowly into halfway civil conversations. And then Zim started acting weird. Well, weird for  _ him. _

Clothes would disappear from Dib’s gym locker. For the longest time, he’d thought it was the work of a strangely secretive bully until he’d found Zim at a supermarket buying three gallons of glo-in-the-dark, hardly-edible, sour gummy worms, wearing Dib’s black hoodie. He’d torn holes in the ends of the sleeves to slip his gloved thumb into like an edgy middle schooler. He denied the jacket had been Dib’s at all, even after Dib indicated the  _ D.M _ initials on the tag.  _ Merely a coincidence, human.  _

This devolved into sitting side by side in the cafeteria, and whispering to each other during assemblies, and huddling side by side in the autumn cold during mandatory appearances at football games in the bleachers. This further devolved into outright jealousy; sometimes, Dib made friends, in or outside of school. Zim hated these friends, and sure, Zim hated all humans, but there was a certain poison in the way he spoke to Dib when their names were mentioned. When these friends started mentioning paranoia that they were being followed by a creature with red eyes - a creature that couldn’t exist because monsters didn’t exist - he realized he had a real problem on his hands.

Worst of all, it was a problem he wasn’t overly interested in solving.

So Zim wanted his constant attention, so Zim wanted to steal his clothes and spend most waking minutes near him. Okay. He could make that work. What better way to spy? But then, he hadn't been tracking Zim’s movements and plans in  _ months…  _ And then suddenly they were graduating highschool and Dib was going to college and moving out and Zim was helping him move and complaining of his long school hours (because Zim, strangely, wasn’t continuing into college - his attempts at “blending in” seemed to have slackened with time) and long work hours. Zim was offhand inviting him out of the atmosphere and allowing him entrance into his house without a round of twenty-questions to ensure his secrets were safe, and Zim was working the lock of Dib’s window and climbing in and Dib would find him in his kitchen, stealing his snacks and it never  _ felt _ like a maniac killer had broken in.

Zim had become this strange recurring thing in his life Dib was certain had a name… Although “ _ friend”  _ didn’t quite cut it…

_ But it’s always been like that- _

_ No, not like this. Not like this. _

Something rose in Dib’s throat. Zim’s breathing was beginning to even out, and his tiny chest rose and fell softly with it…

Another coughing fit wracked Dib suddenly, and he stumbled backward again toward the second medical bay meant for a human. His thoughts dispersed, uncomfortable, frightened, and he thought of what the computer had earlier urged. He shucked off his jacket, and then next his shirt, and climbed gingerly into the bay. His limbs were feeling heavy, his eyes burning. He realized, worriedly, he was nauseous, exhausted, almost faint. His movements were shaky, his walking had been stumbling, as if he were drunk. He reached and pressed for the bay to activate.

Zim despised humans and their anatomy, claimed they made little sense. He examined everything from an Irken perspective, was somehow baffled that they didn’t ave PAKs or anything like them. It took some convincing that including wires for a PAK would do nothing for a dying human if one ever needed the bay.

The bay lit up, projecting from overhead a neon blue ray. It made his skin look sickly, plague-white as a protruding screen to his side displayed an X-ray of his chest. In English, it read,  _ ABNORMALITIES DETECTED IN CHEST CAVITY.  _ All across the roundness of his lungs, he saw flecks of whiteness, some gathering in bunches along the stem, thick. He pictured them spreading until there was no room, his lungs cramped unable to move… His mind wandered to Zim dragging him along the bridge, muttering something malevolent about dissolving organs and blood.

Dib pinched the bridge of his nose, then coughed again into his hand. He grimaced when he choked up something thick and bloody. Disgusted, he slung it away. 

“ _ Preparing anesthetics-” _

“W-wait,” Dib grabbed the tablet, forcing the machinery to pause. His voice was almost a whisper. “Wait, wait, will I be conscious?”

The computer spoke up for the bay, “ _ You won’t want to be conscious while it scrapes that out of your chest-” _

“I can’t be put to sleep,” he rasped, stumbling out of the bay where it blinked red at his absence. He had to watch Zim. What if he woke up? What if he somehow broke free of his restraints and gutted Dib while he was under? He wondered what would happen next. If the ship would land and set Zim free to wander, crazed, confused, and bloodied until the chip killed him. He wondered if the Computer would even let Zim go. If anyone would find Gir, stuffed into the bottom of his backpack.

The Computer made a tsked. “ _ Take this, at least.”  _ It muttered.

Something akin to the breathing devices they drop down from the ceiling of an airplane was held out on a metal arm from the medical bay. Dib eyed it suspiciously, then took it. 

With effort, Dib clambered off the medical bay, landing softly. Exhaustion clung to him like sweat. Every time he coughed, his head throbbed. When he caught his breath again, he stumbled back toward Zim. The tablet and bay still blinked red, but he was breathing, alive. Dib forced himself to wander out of the medical room, into the hall, and into the main room of the ship. He dipped down carefully to lift his backpack off the floor, tugging Gir gently out to seat him in the co-pilot's chair as if he might prefer the view.

Outside the windows, space was inky black, endless. He dropped into the pilot's seat, leaning heavily into the cushions as he watched sars dart by. He was so tired. He could fall asleep so easily. Should he pace? But if his breathing got faster he’d begin to cough… The image of his lungs scraping away, little red slivers of flesh peeled back made his skin crawl, and then he really was coughing, bringing the wireless breathing device to his mouth in time for a gulp of cool, pure oxygen. It helped him catch his breath but did little in easing the sharp, coppery pain in his throat. Dib leaned forward until his elbows touched the dashboard. The lights on the controls were alive and blinking. Everything hurt. Everything hurt. A glance up and a strange, digital clock that read time in Irken blinked away. Time on Irk was… Impossible to explain. There were eight digits on the clock, and there were no such thing as minutes - only something that might be compared to hours calculated in U.S military time but even that was overly simplifying it. Nonetheless, Dib knew enough to know twenty-seven minutes had passed since he’d climbed into the ship. 

_ Two hours and forty-three minutes left.  _

Better late than never. Now all he needed to do was wait for Tak.

  
  



	9. crash land

The control board was a night sky winking in purples, reds, and greens. Funny how once he’d ached to get behind this thing. Zim never let Dib fly his ships, use his technology unless it was  _ ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY,  _ or created specifically  _ for  _ Dib. These were big No-No’s with Zim. Irken’s were particular about things which were theirs, it seemed, perhaps brought on by an upbringing dedicated to being gifted various weapons of mass destruction and the fate of the empire rested squarely on their shoulders. No wonder Zim was so tense.

Meanwhile, Dib’s head was in his hands. His breath was a slow rasp. He closed his eyes. Felt exhaustion draw up from behind his eyelids… Then forced himself to sit upright. He thought of the line of blue vats and his father, thought of the plaque in his hands, and the way the glass had crunched with the impact. Thought of the purple and blue lights of Tak’s monitors, and the tiny pinpricks of the smeet in his hands. Where might she have taken those things? How would they grow up to live? Would any of them be anything like Zim?

Dib leaned back, hands pressed against his face, and the pilot's chair tilted with him. He’d sat here, hardly awake, for the better part of two hours. When he cracked open one eye, peeking between fingers, he saw four minutes had passed since he’d made the two hour mark.

His eyes raked from the clock to the scenery outside. The windshield was curved, wide, like a theatrical screen. There was a holographic map in the right-hand side which showed the distance traveled, the ship in teeny- tiny green pixels, and planets all around mixed with space trash and meteorites. Dib recognized Jupiter, it’s hulking, coffee-colored hurricanes reflecting on the surface of the windshield. It was this planet that defended Earth from most meteorites, it’s gravitational pull so massive they were sucked in, kept from flying forward. Earth’s defender.

Zim found Dib’s solar system to be pretty pathetic, and after everything Zim had shown him thus far, Dib was inclined to agree. Mercury, Venus, Mars, Saturn, all the rest, they were all pretty useless. Dust balls of toxic atmosphere and falling bits of metal. Graveyards of civilizations long past, or wastelands where none had ever been raised to begin with. And here, Zim to show him what he was missing out on, what he mistook for beauty. Although now, his chest cavity feeling like it was being torn one sliver of muscle at a time, that simplicity and lack of life was a relief. At least Mars wouldn’t rack his throat through coals. Or maybe it would. He would never know - Zim had nearly destroyed it.

Dib tilted to the side, caught his head in his hand, elbow on the armrest of the pilot's chair. He closed his eyes again. Thought,  _ Don’t fall asleep. I need to check on Zim. I need to check on Zim…  _ Drew in a shuddering breath… Checked the time again. A minute had passed.

This was fucking miserable. Another coughing fit wracked him. Every movement made his head spin, his stomach churn. The oxygen mask was speckled with blood and he’d found a roll of thick, spongy cloth to clean it down, a continuous, slow effort. 

Dib clutched at his hair and tugged. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be home. He wished he’d never come. He could have just climbed into bed and slept alone, ignored the voice mails, and dealt with Zim’s angry ranting the next day - he had plenty else to worry about, hadn’t he?

But what if it  _ had  _ gone that way? Because (and it hurt to admit it) this had likely never been a birthday gift to begin with. Clearly this was planned ahead, Zim’s meeting with his Tallest’s and the blue-eyed Irken, it all just happened to fall conveniently on Dib’s birthday. Had he ignored him, Zim would’ve too impatient to wait for Dib to answer his phone, too eager to drag him out of his apartment, fleeing to Meekleroth alone, meeting the blue-eyed Irken, receiving the chip, and going mad alone in some stinking alleyway, tearing his way through crowds until some bounty hunter found him and shot him through the skull, or until the chip just ran his PAK into exhaustion.  _ And you’d never have known. _

It was the perceived absence that made Dib sit up, lean forward over the controls, cold dread in his gut. It would’ve been just like that night, months ago, except Zim wouldn’t have come back. There one day, gone the next; unexplained, unexceptional. 

_ What the fuck would you have done then?  _

Suddenly, he glanced at the clock.  _ Where the hell is Tak? _

Had she abandoned him? Had this been her revenge, had she not expected him to rescue Zim at all? Was he meant to watch Zim’s PAK turn him into a complete, mindless zombie until it killed him - or Dib? 

Dib pulled at his hair, thinking,  _ no, no, relax, that’s not true, relax. But wait, why didn’t she give me a way to contact her myself? Jesus FUCK what if she-  _

He dug palms into his eyes, pushing up his glasses, hating himself because he hadn’t thought about  _ any of this  _ beyond convincing Tak to help him in the first place.  _ Don’t think like that, don’t think like that, don’t think like that. I’m going to save Zim.  _

Zim’s own voice in his head;  _ you can’t promise that.  _ Because of course he couldn’t, he was only a stupid, feeble human, all-too mortal and fleeting. His mind wandered, thought of Tak telling him Zim had been too “ _ fucked up _ ” to give his Tallest’s a coherent answer. Why couldn’t he speak? Had his mouth been too full of blood? Or had his PAK been so viciously scrambled, signals blocked until he couldn’t even think straight, swaying in the port wires as he tried to parse what was being said to him?  _ Did he think about me at all?  _

Dib dragged hands down his face.

An alert rang out and he started, jolting painfully up, as his miserable thoughts dispersed into a panic. He looked up to see a message blinking along the windshield. 

_ INCOMING TRANSMISSION… _

His heart soared. He fumbled to receive the call. Immediately, the windshield feed flickered and spat before it’s image cleared up.

Tak’s figure was seated in a tall, grey chair in what appeared to be a very much customized voot. Her shoulders were back, chin lifted. Dib could glimpse the winding pipes and wires in the ceiling, the purple lights similar to Zim’s own ship. But where Zim’s ship had a massive, chrome Irken symbol displayed behind him in all its empirical glory during feeds, Tak had nothing. Her hood was down and upon seeing him, her mouth twitched.

“You look worse for wear,” she said.

He couldn’t help grinning; relief was a bright, yellow thing in the middle of his chest which quickly burst into another coughing fit. Several long seconds later, he ground out, “I thought you weren’t gonna call,”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Why  _ would  _ you?”

Tak frowned. “Irken’s keep their word, stupid human. How was apprehending our little friend?” She said  _ friend  _ the same way one might say  _ roach. _

“He’s in one piece,” he had checked on Zim twice while waiting on Tak, and both times Zim had been unconscious, unchanged. He had at least gotten the bleeding to subside. “And so am I. Do you have the antidote?”

Tak nodded curtly. She gestured to the left. “There is a device that looks a bit like a cylinder to the far left of the pilot's seat. It’s likely pressed into a cove in the wall. Do you see it?” 

Dib pushed himself backward in the chair and saw along the wall amongst a myriad of humming panels and lights, an alcove behind thin glass. The computer must’ve been anticipating this, because the glass slid up with a hiss, and a purple light within it lit up. It looked like a tiny microwave, or a space to keep petri dishes. 

Tak continued, “I’ll be transferring the antidote to you. That’s where it’ll appear,”

Dib looked back at her, astonished. It occurred to him he hadn’t actually thought of  _ how  _ Tak was going to get the antidote to him. “Wait, you’re not going to just bring it to me?”

_ “What?  _ How on Irk do you expect me to do that from  _ here _ ?” She gestured as if he knew where  _ “here”  _ was. “Sending it to you’ll be far easier,”

_ “How? _ ” Irken technology never ceased to amaze him. Or maybe they’d stolen it from another conquered alien race.

“Does it really matter?” Tak was reaching at some control panel off to the right where he couldn’t see. Suddenly, at her lap, he saw something dark, indigo blue bob up, then disappear. Her hand drew toward it and seemed to caress something. 

Dib squinted, coughing, once. “Um, Tak?”

She made a noncommittal hum.

“Is that a cat?”

Her violet eyes widened momentarily. Then she was scowling. “Why are you asking?”

Dib couldn't help but smile - genuinely, with warmth. “I’m glad you got Mimi up and running.”

Tak sputtered. “Th-that isn’t- you don’t even know what you’re- what a presumption, this isn’t-” but the SIR unit, in it’s disguised cat form, peeked up, sharp red eyes gazing strangely at Dib, before it made a whirring sound, likely simulating a purr, rubbing against Tak’s chin. She couldn’t even be angry about it, stiffening as she scowled deeper. Dark violet stained her cheeks.

“I guess that means it won’t take me long to fix Gir,” he glanced sideways at the robot, limp and lifeless in the co-pilot's chair. 

“No. It shouldn’t. SIR units are remarkably resilient. His memory chip is all that matters. Even Zim should have no trouble repairing him.” Her scowl remained but her voice had softened. 

The alcove beside him hummed as the glass shield slid down. The neon purple within it was painful to look at. Dib squeezed his eyes shut again. That migraine that had been growing in the back of his skull was full-fledged now. 

_ Even Zim should have no trouble with it.  _ So the worst was over - that simple statement was a reassurance, a promise. Behind the glass, something solid was forming in the light. It was about four inches in length, with strange Vortian text running along either side of it. As the neon faded to a softer hue, he saw that it was a cobalt blue in color; one end resembled a chip that might be inserted into something, like a USB drive. The other was tapered, almost pointy, with a blinking black light.

“You tied him up, right?” Tak asked as it solidified, hovering in the alcove like a precious item in a video game. Dib nodded wordlessly. 

The glass slid up again. He reached toward it until he felt incredible heat coming off of the space in waves. He yanked his hand back with a gasp. “When can it be used?”

“As soon as you’re able.”

“This is it? How long will it take to go into effect?”

“About a minute. Perhaps longer. Or a second shorter.”

“You can’t be any more precise than that?”

Tak gave him a deadpan look, her hand drawing over Mimi’s head as the cat rubbed belatedly beneath her. “This is a prototype, human, and technically the first of its kind-”

“Are you sure it even  _ works-” _

“It works.” Tak’s voice was firm. “It most certainly works. I promise you that.”

Her expression was grim. He opened his mouth to thank her. She must have known what was coming because she glanced away, said, “As soon as he recovers he’ll be confused or at least a little slow. It’ll depend on what it’s done to his PAK thus far, but regardless you’re both to contact me right away. Or just him. I don’t care.” A string of numbers appeared on the bottom half of the screen. “Those are the Resisity’s current coordinates.”

Dib squinted at them, reaching over for his backpack. He pulled it into his lap and found in a side pocket a notepad, red pen. He scratched them down. “Wait - just -... The  _ entire  _ Resisty? How impressive is your role there?”

Tak’s antennae twitched. He watched her withhold a smirk. “High enough,  _ Dib.  _ Anyway, when Zim is done being  _ pathetic,  _ we’ll want  _ that- _ ” she gestured to the alcove “- returned to us. The chip the Tallest’s gave him is likely destroyed - it’s half-organic, anyway. That will lock it away for-”

“ _ Ugh, WHAT?  _ Half  _ organic?  _ What the fuck did they put in him?!”

Tak’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose I never really explained what it was made out of, did I?” In her lap, Mimi disappeared as she curled into a tight ball. “It’s from the Control Brains. A sliver of their living, organic wiring. Defective Irkens are made so by their lack of connection with the Control Brains-”

“I thought he wasn’t being controlled,”

“Not anymore, no, if Zim ever  _ was  _ a true member of the collective...” Tak looked aside, eyes hardening. “It means nothing to you, but this thing the Tallest’s have is a prototype in every sense of the word, human. It’s better to keep a Defective Irken than to kill it, if you can only get it to obey. Maybe they’ll fix broken Irkens with this, reconnect them to the Control Brains like everyone else-” Her attention was suddenly pulled aside to a distant, alien voice far off camera. She spoke back in a tongue Dib didn’t know - he’d taken his translator off sometime after he’d reached the ship.

While Tak was distracted, Dib glanced back at the chip she’d sent him. So whatever that Irken had given Zim had been absorbed into his PAK, would be re-absorbed by this, then sent off to the Resisty to do their good-bidding.  _ Good riddance.  _ With Zim tied and bound, it would be easy to slip behind him, even if the tranquilizers wore off, and insert it into his PAK. 

Dib stuck the pen into the space he’d written the coordinates in his notebook and stuffed them into his backpack. He was pulling away when his knuckles brushed against something warm and fuzzy, seemingly alive. His skin crawled as he jerked his hand out, peering inward thinking of creepy, crawling things that might’ve snuck into his backpack when he’d been hiding in the crashed ship in the alleyway…

His eyes focused on something baby barf green and half the size of his fist… Dib reached in and pulled out the strange, googly-eyed thing that Gir had contributed to his birthday gift. He nearly choked up. Holding it up, the Swollen Eyeball insignia glinted in the starlight, right alongside the sleek, purple USB Zim had created carefully, all for him. And besides that, a shiny, metal Irken symbol. 

What a stupid, self-centered gift. Looking at the keychain now, Dib was  _ certain  _ the Irken symbol was meant to be Zim - not the Armada. How could he miss those berry-colored eyes?

He thought of Zim bleeding in his base again, hs fingers intertwined desperately with Dib’s; of false pride as he reached out with his PAK leg to give him his gift, side-eyeing Dib frantically as if he really  _ weren’t sure  _ if this were something Dib might love or hate, and _ how could he have ever thought Zim was anything like the cold, calculated, emotionless Irken soldier he pretended to be? _ He wanted so badly for Dib to notice him, for the Tallest’s to notice him. It was obvious, but Dib mistook it for a pride thing, which granted, it partially was, but it was more than that, too, wasn’t it? The word  _ love  _ suddenly didn’t sound so stupid.

Tak’s voice suddenly spoke clearly through the feed,  _ “ _ What on Irk is  _ that _ ?” at the same moment he began to cough. He held the keychain away and covered his mouth. His lungs rattled and he felt a sharp pain in his left side as if chunks of his lungs were dislodging, falling downward. He clutched his side, gasping for breath, feeling panic build up.

“- the matter? … sound like … falling apart…?”

There was static in his ears and black spots before his eyes. He reached blindly for the breathing mask. 

“Dib?  _ Dib?” _

The crisp air didn’t abate much of the pain, but it did succeed in relaxing his nerves; at least he wasn’t suffocating or feeling like he was. The sound of his own rasping made him wince.

_ “Dib!” _

Dib glanced up. Tak was leaning forward, brow furrowed. Mimi was alert, staring, too. 

“Sorry. I’m-” another painful cough, “- f-fine,”

“Why are you coughing like that?”

“I’m fine,” he waved again, pushing the keychain in his jeans pocket. “When I caught Zim he… Tore off my mask and I breathed in some of that- green, smog shit. I’ll deal with it-”

“The smog on Meekleroth? You  _ breathed  _ that?” Tak’s expression was incredulous.

“Yeah but I-”

“How are you still  _ alive _ ?”

“ _ I told him to use a bay, _ ” the computer sounded like he was gossiping. 

“Look I-”

“You need to hook yourself up now. Stick Zim with that and go to a medical bay.  _ Now- _ ”

“You care a lot suddenly,” He scoffed. 

That made Tak’s eye twitch. “Fine. Die painfully, human, see if I care. I’m sure Zim would appreciate all the useless effort.” 

That stung. Dib glanced aside as Tak drew in a slow breath. “When is your expected arrival on Earth?”

He glanced up. Looking past the transmission, he saw now a great sphere of green and blue. Home. White and grey storms spun in the gulf near Mexico. A little red dot indicated on that spinning Earth where they were headed. Forgetting his lung predicament, Dib thought of his bed again, wondered if there was a time to spare for a nap once this was through.

“About ten minutes,” Dib said.

Tak nodded once. “Administer the antidote, hook yourself up to one of Zim’s bays, and be done with it. The antidote will take care of Zim. I have work to do,”

“I’ll contact you,” 

Tak paused. He didn’t absorb her expression, or what she might be thinking. Her hand reached for the controls to shut off the transmission. He’d seen the same look in Zim a hundred times before; the grace of guilt. A pause, as if his mind were parsing how to comprehend  _ this  _ feeling, if it could be ignored. Usually, it could. 

“Then, Tak out,”

Silence followed, heavy and pressing. Dib folded his arms over the controls and watched as the planet drew rapidly closer, green blurs of land sharpening to reveal the bumps of mountains, the brown of deserts.

There’d been since he’d hooked himself up in the bay a seed of doubt climbing through his gut. His breathing had become increasingly raspy and tight. He didn’t think he'd be able to run very long if the moment arrived.  _ But Zim’s tied up, so there’s no reason to think about that…  _ He buried his forehead in his arms as the ship slipped past space trash and stasis meteorites. The sky was a strange, orange blue, made soft with the morning. This high up, the sun bounced off the windshield, a golden disc… Then they were descending further, and the ship was swallowed up in grey. Thick clouds surrounded the ship, suffocating it. Bolts of purple light forked out of the dark. The icy, late-Autumn rain had persisted in their absence. It pelted the ship, ran down the windshield in rivulets. Dib's head was tilted in his arms, looking up tiredly at the rain, the bright flashes of light. He hardly registered the way the ship shuddered when the bursts happened too close.

Thunder rolled, a low growl. Glumly, Dib remembered - not for the first time that morning - how much Zim hated thunder.

Reaching, hr flipped for auto-landing. He stood up carefully, reaching for the alcove, sliding up the glass and taking the small device. It fit in his palm like the hilt of a knife. 

In the medical room, the lights had dimmed with inactivity. When they blinked back on, he lowered them back to something softer. Maybe Zim’s eyes would be sensitive when he woke up? Either way, Dib’s head was throbbing. As he crossed the room, he kicked aside his coat, the finger gloves he’d worn and peeled off when he’d hauled Zim’s tiny form to safety. He stopped at the medical bay and stared down at the body lying here.

Zim’s chest rising in slow, faint breaths. His vitals were faint as well. That made Dib’s stomach churn. He reached, felt Zim’s forehead. His skin was clammy, cooling to the touch. His hand fell carefully downward, cupping his cheek, tilting his head just slightly.

Zim didn’t respond at all, didn’t twitch. His vitals remained quiet. 

When he woke up, what would he remember? Had he been deep within his own mind, faintly aware of the madness like some forced spectator? Would he be apologetic?  _ Will he forgive the Tallest’s?  _

Blood stained the gurney, dried and dark. Dib took either of Zim’s bony shoulders and turned him over, adjusting him just enough to see his PAK. He held up the antidote and inserted it at the first entry point he saw. 

The black light lit up immediately. The device emitted a tiny beep as the Vortian text shone in sharp blue. Dib held his breath. He felt Zim stiffen, and he tensed, waiting, his grip on Zim’s arms tightening. An agonizing twenty seconds passed, then became thirty…

Nothing changed. The PAK remained emergency red, Zim’s skin slick with sweat. Dib glanced at the clock across the room, set into LED lights along the wall.  _ Forty-one. Forty-two, forty-three… Forty-six...Fourty-eight- _

He glanced down at Zim. His breathing had hitched. Behind them, the machine was beeping as his vitals spiked. His pulse was picking up. 

“ _ Zim? _ ” Dib whispered. Zim’s brow furrowed, drawn as if in pain. “ _ Can you hear me right now?”  _ No response. Dib glanced back at the clock, hope stirring.  _ Fifty-four seconds, fifty-five, fifty-six... Come on, Zim, come on- _

Beneath him Zim kicked, striking the medical tray with his heel and sending it flying across the room. Dib looked down, startled, releasing him. Zim’s eyes were open, wild, and feverish, set on Dib, alight with furious vitality. Zim squirmed as if trying to get his legs underneath himself to stand. Dib tightened his grasp to still him as he jerked, saying, “Stop it,  _ stop _ , you’re gonna hurt yourself, Zim-” but the Irken snapped viciously at him, teeth clicking. Dib drew back, glancing frantically back at the clock. A minute had passed and yet-

Zim was making a terrible, groaning noise in the back of his throat. Dib heard a bone crack, then fabric tear as a  _ stalk -  _ bloodied, wrinkled from disuse - thrust out from Zim’s left side. It flexed, and in the pale light, Dib saw three claws. The crooked fingers stretched long and thin. It was a separate arm, and it immediately set to work at tearing at the ropes. Dib fell backward, horrified, as a second burst from Zim’s right side, splashing blood in a straight arc along the floor. He was jerking terribly, half-mad, half determined to free himself. His PAK legs strained against the ropes, little hairs fraying as he sawed through them. Dib was on his ass, scrambling backward, slipping on a syringe that had rolled onto the floor before knocking into the second medical tray. Beneath him, he felt the ship jolt violently, the wires overhanging the medical bay Zim was still attached to swaying. 

From the pilot's room, he heard, “ _ PROXIMITY WARNING,” _

Dib flung a wild look over his shoulder- perhaps the ship needed guidance in landing, maybe he’d left the auto-pilot on wrong - while in the pilot's room new alerts were ringing out. Dib scrambled to his feet, coughing, stumbling out of the medical room and into the hallway where the floor lights flashed blood red in their urgency. The ship lurched again and he crashed into the wall, vaulting himself off of it and into the pilot's room where he was greeted with the sight of his old neighborhood and the toxic glow of Zim’s house, growing rapidly larger. Dib fell into the pilot's chair, sickly aware of the snarling coming from far behind him as Zim ripped himself out of the bay. A clatter beside him as Gir toppled onto the floor. In the medical room, another terrible crash, as a mechanical voice rang out, “ _ PAK DISCONNECTED. RECONNECT TO CONTINUE DIAGNOSTICS-” _

Dib spun in the chair the same moment a nightmarish spider bolted out of the medical room. With his new, clawed hands Zim clung to the wall, scrabbling toward Dib, PAK legs poised-

“Computer, shut the door!” Dib cried. The door flew down as Zim was rushing it. 

“ _ PROXIMITY WARNING. EMERGENCY LANDING IN T-MINUS TWENTY SECONDS-”  _

Dib scrambled for the controls. He’d seen Zim do this a hundred times, surely it wasn’t so hard? Behind him, Zim was clawing at the door with mild success; he could hear metal shredding beneath his claws, peeling back like melting wax.

“ _ Why…  _ weren’t you  _ landing the ship… while I was in there?”  _ Dib ground out, glancing up.

“ _ I was distracted, _ ” the Computer answered. “..  _ Anyway, I’m not programmed to do that.” _

Dib couldn’t dwell on the Computer’s indifference; he was pretty certain Zim’s roof wasn’t going to be open in time for a smooth landing.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the uninitiated, in the ZiM comics, it's confirmed Zim has four arms - located in his sides - that he's somehow completely unaware of.


	10. game over screen

The  _ GAME OVER  _ screen lit up in green neon, Gaz’s avatar made into a skeleton thrown aside by a sword-wielding enemy. She tsk’d, restarting the match before she raised her fist a fourth time and knocked on the door to Dib’s apartment.

“If you’re asleep I’m gonna kill you,” she shouted, loud enough for a cluster of passing neighbors waddling with bags of groceries to their own dorms to glance back and quicken their pace. The tinny music from her Game Slave was starting to get annoying. That and the nagging anxiety chewing at her middle.

_ “You should pay your brother a visit. I think he may be upset, _ ” 

Dad had said it so casually as he’d opened up a cupboard in the kitchen. Such a random, distantly worrying comment that it had immediately made alarm bells ring off in Gaz’s head. Dad didn’t just ask how Dib was or ponder on his mental instability for no reason. Professor Membrane was the sort of person who only vaguely alluded to what was on his mind in the rare instances that he alluded to it at all.

Gaz had immediately asked, “ _ Why, did you guys get into another fight?” _

“ _ Not another fight, daughter, merely a… Disagreement!”  _ He sounded pleased with himself, something wary shimmering beneath the surface. 

Gaz glared into her cereal bowl.  _ “Why don’t you call him? He’d probably rather hear from you.”  _

Membrane’s back had been to her. He paused, pretended to fiddle with something at the counter before he spun. “ _ Your brother doesn’t particularly like-” _

Gaz rolled her eyes, “ _ Fine, I’ll go see him. We were already doing something today anyway,” _

Membrane clapped his hands together once. “ _ Excellent. Did you get him a present?” _

_ “Did you?” _

_ “Of  _ course _ I did!”  _ He didn’t sound the least bit hurt she’d asked like a normal father might be, a normal father with a strained relationship with his only son. Of course, the gift had been not anything related to any sort of interest Dib actually had, but unreleased Membrane technology from the labs; Gaz thought of out of touch parents getting their kids ancient game consoles to mend emotional distance. Whatever. While dad went on about how considerate his own gift was, Gaz had stared at her reflection in the aluminum silver ribbon hanging from the side.

She had the gift now, stuffed under her arm, wrapped in blue wrapping paper. On the other side of the door, the silence rolled on.

Gaz cut the game, closing the device and shoving it into her satchel as she pounded on the door with her fist, teeth gritted. “Dib! Open up your fucking door!” 

This amount of patience from her was already unique. She wasn’t Dib’s fucking keeper. She dug into her pocket until she procured a jingling keyring and worked on the door.  _ So help me if you’re half-dead drunk- _

The front door fell open into a shadowy apartment. Dib wasn’t a housecleaner, but he’d learned after the Florpus incident that shit doesn’t clean itself. There were a few discarded dishes waiting to be cleaned in the sink. The faucet tapped, tapped, tapped. Next to the sink was an empty bottle of what looked to be rum. Unopened mail on the counter. Nothing was gathering dust, however, and there was a remarkable lack of piles of dirty laundry. Candles without holders pouring black wax onto the floor on one table sat unlit.  _ Dib and his fucking demons.  _

“ _ Hey, _ where are you, dork?” Gaz hissed. It took a conscious effort not to whisper, it was so quiet - and dark. Rain pattered against the sliding glass door at the other end of the living room. The shades were drawn, making the faces on his cryptid posters look wide, searching. The monitors in the corner were black. Gaz stepped in, and the door slid shut behind her; she didn’t dare turn on the kitchen light, felt the harsh fluorescent would only illuminate his absence further. 

“Dib! Don’t make me come get you!” Although she was already trudging for his bedroom door. Halfway there something splashed beneath her. A puddle of water surrounding a short table where a stack of papers, pens, and the landline sat. A red light blinked; there were eight voice messages on the machine.

Gaz continued past it to throw open the bedroom door.

In the gloom, the bed was unmade. There was a jacket thrown halfway over the coverlets, and a pillow was on the floor. Dib’s Eyeball suitcase was cracked open on the nightstand, papers sticking out at random. The alarm clock read  _ 10:41  _ into the grey. Despite her own inclinations toward darkness, Gaz stepped over discarded clothes and a lone shoe to open the curtains. Grey light spilled in. There was an empty mug on top of the suitcase, two water bottles on the floor. This window was missing its screen; in fact, all of them were.  _ Zim.  _ There were extra locks on the latch as well, although each of them were undone. Something glittered on the floor, halfway obscured under the bed. She dipped down, plucked it between two fingers: a silvery tablet pen, a fuchsia Irken symbol etched into its tip. Something of Zim’s. Gaz tsk’d again and threw it aside. She should’ve guessed. 

Gaz stomped back into the living room and stopped before the answering machine, pressed a button. If this was invasive of her brother's privacy she wasn’t privy to care; they  _ did  _ have places at one o’clock this afternoon that she was beginning to think might be canceled. 

_ “You have eight unheard mes-” _

She skipped to the first one.

“ _ First message from UNKNOWN CALLER. Message received at one forty-eight AM.”  _ The robotic voice cut to a nasally, irritably familiar shout,  _ “ _ _ Putrid HUMAN I know you are listening to this inferior Earth device RING, I know you’re HOME! Answer! Answer me! Answer Zim! I command you to-” _

She skipped again.

“ _ Second message from UNKNOWN CALLER. DIB HUMAN, you WRETCHED CREATURE, ANSWER THE PHONE!  _ I’m calling you again because I  _ KNOW YOU WERE LISTENING THE FIRST TIME. DO NOT PRETEND TO BE AWAY FROM THE PHONE! Zim has already promised I would not blow you to smithereens with lazers-” _

Skipped.

_ “Third message from UNKNOWN CALLER. - anyway, Gir has been incessantly asking the Dib human arrive NOW, so unless you wish for me to send HIM to retrieve you, you had better ANSWER THE-” _

“ _ Fourth message from, UNKNOWN CALLER. If you even  _ understood  _ the horrors awaiting you if make your mighty Irken overlord wait for another- ARGHH I HAVE LITTLE  _ PATIENCE  _ FOR WHATEVER ANTICS YOU ARE TAKING PARK IN WITHOUT ZIM-” _

All of Zim’s loud, bombastic messages had been received in the span of the same five minutes. Growling, Gaz cut through three more until thinking,  _ Zim is such an obsessive FREAK,  _ when the eighth voicemail lit up.

_ “Eighth message from, MEMBRANE. Message received at four sixteen AM.”  _ Gaz paused. Silence. Silence. The crackle of static as if it were too loud to record. There came a sound like something tapping on wood once before the silence returned, stretching on for four more long seconds when on the other line, someone shakily, abruptly, hung up.

_ I think he may be upset.  _

Gaz stepped out of the puddle, having realized she’d never moved. The voices on the answering machine, hours old as they were, had momentarily breathed life into Dib’s silent apartment. Now that they were gone, the quiet pressed in. Glancing behind her she could see the bathroom, the strings of polaroids hung like clothes-lines from wall to wall. She’d left his bedroom down cracked. Pale, grey light from the windows slipped out to illuminate the legs of the table. 

_ Had  _ Dib made it to Zim’s house? 

Urgency made her grab her phone, dial Dib’s number for the tenth time that day. It rang, and rang, and rang, and rang and then went to voicemail. Grumbling under her breath, she dialed another number.

It rang. And rang. And rang. And rang. And-  _ “Hello! This is the entirely normal residence of human, ZIM. I am human. Do not call this number ever again if you wish to keep your sliming, filthy tongue, and do not even THINK of leaving a voicemai-”  _ Gaz hung up.  _ Where the fuck is he?  _ Maybe he  _ was  _ with Zim… But then, why all the voicemails?

If he’d fought with dad which she was certain he had (-  _ their father alone in the kitchen at three AM, holding the phone to his head, saying nothing, hanging up, staring at the receiver as if Dib would ever call back-),  _ then, of course, Dib would’ve gone to Zim. To start a fight or find, what?  _ Comfort?  _ She was pretty certain Zim would sooner poke out his own eye than comfort her brother. She screwed her mouth into a bitter frown.

Dib and his stupid emotions. Maybe she should punch Zim in the nose (or where a nose was  _ supposed  _ to be) just for being an unfeeling alien. 

Gaz left, locking the door behind her, head down as she took the stairs two at a time. Her motorbike was parked in the underground parking lot given to the mostly college-aged population of Dib’s apartment. She wondered if it bothered him, all the parties, late-night study romps he might’ve once been a part of. But then again, maybe not; Dib had always hated parties, get-togethers, and he’d been a semi-poor student late into high school. Although perhaps that had less to do with a lack of interest in schoolwork and something more to do with home. Her mind briefly wandered to his own high school graduation, the house crammed with their father’s colleagues, while Dib locked himself in his bedroom because of some once-in-a-lifetime meteor shower. Hadn’t Zim been invited?  _ Hadn’t Zim come that evening?  _ Gaz tugged on her helmet and revved the engine.  _ If he’s making out with Zim right now I swear to God- _

She drove for that stupid alien’s house.

  
  
  


\-------------

  
  


Something was tapping rapidly nearby. Many things, actually, a dozen tiny hands knocking on glass. Dib flinched, groaned. He was only half aware that he was fading in and out of consciousness. Something wet pattered onto the top of his hand, and Dib’s eyes cracked open to watch it, blurry and pale. Tap. Tap. Tap. Taptaptaptaptap.

_ Oh. It’s still raining.  _ Dib blinked, his vision vague. Glancing around just a little brought to his attention a figure just before him, human-like. He jolted. He was staring at a mosaic of himself; cracked, splintered, and terribly bloodied. Cold terror shot through him - until he realized he was staring at the windshield, a massive web of cracks splitting its surface. There was a hole near where the dashboard met glass, and his hand stuck halfway out of it into the cold air, damp with rainwater. He was thrown halfway over the control board, switches and joysticks jabbing into his chest and abdomen like jagged rocks. The taste of blood was sharp in his mouth.

He felt like he’d been hit by a train. Various sensations of throbbing, stinging pain made themselves known all over. His vision was blurry, and he reached blindly for his glasses which he found thankfully easily, caught between the dashboard and the windshield. He pulled them on, wincing at their cracked lens’. Could he afford replacements without asking for money? Gaz would complain if she had to help him replace his glasses again...

Behind him something scraped, metal dragging against metal. Dib pulled himself carefully up, clutching his middle before a sharp pain in his left side made him stop suddenly, hissing. Tentatively, Dib touched his side. Through his shirt and the binder underneath (he really needed to remove that thing - not only had it been on way too long but it wasn’t doing his lungs any favors) he pressed, and felt a terrible shift, doubling over as he did and regretting it instantly. A broken rib? Perhaps. The bloody taste in his mouth grew worse as another coughing fit threatened to overtake him. Tears were bubbling in the corners of his eyes. Everything hurt and his mind was too overcome with fear and pain to remember… Remember-

The metallic scrape again, this time sharper than before. Dib looked slowly behind him, saw the door to the pilot's room had been wrenched just slightly off of its track. Red light from the hallway on the other side spilled in, glowing through the five-inch crack created. The pilot's room around him was a mess of debris, discarded thick wiring hanging down from broken ceiling panels overhead. The control board blinked weakly; a black button with an Irken symbol on it flashed. In Irken it read  _ DISTRESS BEACON. _ Sparks flew above and before him. 

Another scrape from the other side of the door. Dib drew in a slow, ragged breath. He dared to slide off the control board, careful not to move too suddenly. He took a step forward, half bent over. Every shift of weight was a stab of pain.

Silence, save for the rain. Patter, patter, pattering away. 

“Zim?”

Nothing. Had the antidote worked while they’d crashed? Was Zim alive? Unconscious as his body recovered? Had the crash killed him? Dib moved to lurch forward when something slammed against the dislodged door, making it creak and groan under the weight. Dib stumbled back into the dashboard, glass crunching under his boots. He sucked in a breath as two, then three bloodied claws reached beneath the crack, scrabbling up the door and leaving long scrapes down the metal.

Dib felt his body physically shift with the weight of the realization that  _ it hadn’t worked. The antidote hadn’t worked. _ What should he do? Run some more? Let Zim tire himself to death? The claws braced suddenly against the door and tried to force up back up its track. The door made a terrible shrieking sound as it climbed up one inch, then two. Three PAK legs reached under next and panic finally caught up with him; Dib was backing up onto the dashboard, glass biting into his palms as he turned. It took too much effort to lift up his legs, kick through the weakened windshield which curled backward effortlessly, revealing Zim’s cob-web infested attic. 

The ship had crashed halfway into Zim’s attic. The landing pad revealed itself partially beneath the dark wood. Immediately on stepping out, Dib was struck with icy rain. The ceiling was open; in fact, it was half missing. Smoke rose in a lazy curl into the grey sky overhead. Panels of wood and alien wiring stuck out at odd angles, along with green cotton candy puffs of insulation. Something spat as rainwater mixed with unfriendly wiring; blue and purple sparks flew to his right, and a metallic arm twitched, trying to close the roof unsuccessfully. Rain pattered down in heavy, fat drops, staining the dark wood black. Purple tiles were scattered along the floor, clattering away when Dib hopped delicately down, kicking them. Boxes stacked haphazardly in small towers around the room were beginning to soak. White sheets covering furniture - or weapons of mass destruction clung limply to the furniture. Behind him, the ship and house groaned. He froze. The ship was threatening to fall backward into the backyard. Jagged bits of glass from the grand window reflected the grey sky back at itself.

If Zim were alive, he’d be in a tizzy; not only was his house a wreck but now the ship was threatening to fall into the backyard for everyone to see in all it’s ruined, alien glory. 

He’d forgotten why his heart was hammering in his chest. Dib stumbling forward, toward the doorway obscured by junk. Most of the boxes here were labeled in messy, purple sharpie,  _ GIR’S THINGS.  _ Where was that robot again? Within the ship behind him, something gave- he heard a slam, then a  _ click, click, clickclickclick,  _ and he found his legs suddenly willing to move faster. The door, the door ahead, he reached and found the knob. Immediately his hands slipped, and the brass stained red. His vision was becoming fuzzy again, his breathing ragged - it took effort getting enough air in his lungs to move quickly, or really do anything at all. He felt light-headed. 

_ Go, keep going, keep going.  _

The door creaked when he pulled it open, pushing himself out into the long hallway. It narrowed to a taller elevator. Leaning against one wall, he began the slow, shaky trek down. This close he found the walls needed cleaning. They were grimy, and crayon drawings at floor level where Gir had gone to work were difficult to decipher. Or maybe his vision was just that confused.  _ Maybe a second longer. Maybe a second less.  _ Maybe Tak had been mistaken. Maybe she meant five minutes.  _ Five minutes. Just five minutes. Maybe a second more. Then he’ll wake up.  _

When he dared to peer over his shoulder, he saw a pale grey shadow growing on the wall as if we were about to swoop down and swallow him, and his mind, delirious, thought of Nosferatu and all those terrible old horror movies. The sound of thumping far behind him made him whip forward again, nearly crashing into the elevator. He slammed the buttons for the ground floor two, three, four, five times.

Behind him, the door to the hallway swung open, crashing into the wall beside it.  _ Maybe a minute. Maybe less. Maybe five. Hell, maybe ten.  _ He was still pressing the button when the elevator doors fell open and he stumbled inside. Behind him the thud thudTHUDTHUD of heavy rapid footsteps, scrabbling PAK legs stripping wallpaper from the walls. He was turning as the doors slid shut, caught only a glimpse of big red eyes.

Dib felt the ground shift as the elevator lowered him deeper into the house. He could just stay here. Could Zim find a way in? _ Maybe. I don’t care.  _ There were a dozen tiny tunnels, vents, and secret doors that Zim had to know of even in his madness. Dib slid down the wall, hissing in pain, legs kicked out before him, long and gangly. His jeans were torn into two places; there was a long gash along his right thigh that he hadn’t noticed until now, and he was alarmed to see glass sticking out at a jagged angle from it. He reached forward, and drew in a breath, wrapping his hand around it until the glass bit into his palms, soaking into his gloves. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled, a searing pain lighting up as a thin arc of blood followed the glass. Blood pooled around it in a slow, creeping circle.

Maybe that’d been a stupid idea. Whatever. Done now. 

He leaned his head against the wall, breathing heavily. Stared up at the overly bright, single light source overhead as the elevator came to a smooth halt, the doors opening into the kitchen.

Even from here, the soft pattering of rain drifted in from the living room. The shades were drawn, and pale light spilled in pools on the ground. The kitchen was black with shadows. On the table, a cold plate of half-eaten waffles Gir had left behind. Lightning flashed; it filled up the kitchen, illuminating the dirty, pale tile, the strange purple walls, the reddish grease-stained fridge. 

_ One. Two. Three. Four- _

Thunder rumbled, rolling beneath him and shaking the cupboards. Dishes clattered, glass clinking. Dib sat in the elevator as the thunder faded, and listened. He climbed to his feet, leaning heavily again on the wall, before he pushed himself into the kitchen. His head swam with the movement. He could feel blood running down his leg and filling his boots. His gait had slowed considerably. His mind faded in out of sharp images of home; of boots slapping on the pavement; of himself, running up the walkway of his childhood home, running up the stairs, and hiding beneath the bedsheets of his childhood room, where the glow-in-the-dark stickers he’d been too lazy to peel away still shone in the blackness of night. He knocked into a dinner chair, nearly fell as it tilted and clattered aside behind him. A heavy sound coming from overhead; had the ship moved? Was it Zim? Or the storm? He felt the world shift and he caught the doorway into the living room, gasping for breath where he froze.

Zim was hunched over, arms poised at either side of him, glancing frantically as if in search of _something._ His back was to Dib. From here, Dib saw his PAK torn wires hung out like dead snakes from where he’d ripped himself free of the medical bay. Sparks spat weakly from it. The portlights were a weak, blood red. He was terribly bloody, PAK legs stiff as if they were frozen, half ejected from his PAK, some longer than the other. The fourth one was bent at such an angle Dib was certain it was broken. The lights on it did not glow. Zim’s right arm - his natural right arm - was bent at the forearm at a terrible angle, and his uniform was stained with too much blood. He was visibly shaking, antennae twitching wildly.

How he’d gotten here so fast, Dib wasn’t certain. He might’ve sat in the elevator for longer than he’d thought. He might’ve actually blacked out momentarily while sitting there, who knew. Now he took a shaky step backward toward it, then another. Zim’s fingers twitched, like a zombie half-aware of nearby  flesh  when Dib’s boot kicked the wooden chair. It scraped along the tile, the sound like metal on a chalkboard. 

Zim spun around, eyes centering on Dib immediately. He didn’t pause; Zim rushed him. 

Zim rammed into him full force, knocking the wind from him and flinging them both onto the ground. Dib’s back struck the kitchen tile hard, his head knocking against it as Zim scrambled to pin him. Dib threw up an arm, catching Zim’s jaw and angling him away. Zim snapped at him like a wild dog. Dib could hardly fight back- the strike had taken all the breath out of him and a searing pain was blinding him; he was losing his breath and couldn’t seem to catch it. He kicked Zim in his middle once, powerfully enough to throw him back into the kitchen wall. The plaster cracked; his PAK spat bright sparks. Dib turned himself over and tried to crawl toward the elevator thinking,  _ I’ll hide there, I’ll just fucking hide there _ \- when a claw grasped his leg and yanked him violently backward. He flung himself over, terrified that if he couldn’t see Zim, the Irken would somehow find a PAK leg to run him through his back. He regretted the move immediately; Zim dove down and wrapped two claws around the column of Dib’s neck. 

Instantly, Dib was scrabbling to claw his hands away as Zim straddled him. He was prying at one finger when the new set of arms, colder than the rest of him, grabbed his scrabbling hands and pinned them to the floor.

Dib could feel heat spilling from the back of his head, perhaps where Zim had first charged him. Now, the Irken lifted him up once, slamming him back down where his head bounced off of the cold tile with a  _ CRACK _ . 

Dib couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Zim was visibly panting, blood seeping between his teeth as if he’d chewed on nails. His eyes were wild- a complete lack of clarity, a complete lack of recognition, a furious nothingness. There was no gleeful triumph, no frantic laughter. His right eye twitched. This wasn’t Zim, could never be Zim, Zim was gone, Zim was dead, buried somewhere in his eroding PAK-

Zim’s hands pressed down as if he wanted to snap Dib’s windpipe into the tile. The blinking red ports of Zim’s PAK were fading like a child’s toy drained of its battery.

Dib’s vision was blurring; his boots were making long black streaks on the tile in his frantic kicking as his mind spiraled. Where was the Computer, where was Tak? Gir?  _ His father, his sister, anyone? Where was ZIM? _ This couldn't be how this ended, after all that work, this couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be. There was always something else to say, there was always another insult Zim had to hurl at him, another argument, another roll-in-the-dirt fight-  _ just one more moment, there’s something else, this can’t be it don’t go, stay don't leave me here- _

Since age sixteen, Dib had had a growth spurt which had given him way more leg than he knew what to do with, and aside from mocking Zim with his superior height, it wasn’t madly useful. In his panic, he managed to get one long leg up and find the middle of Zim’s diaphragm which he kicked with every ounce of strength he had left. Dib heard a crack as Zim made a choked sound and he was tossed backward a second time. There was no time for any reprieve; just as Zim was moving to come back and tear out his jugular, Dib had found last-ditch strength as he sucked in a ragged breath, hands flying to his pocket, wrapping fingers around the alien swiss army knife and swinging it out as Zim came forward; with a click of a button, a pointy end stuck out of what appeared to be a wine opener which he swung blindly, catching it in the middle of Zim’s right eye. 

It made a horribly soft, _splish_ sound that was followed immediately with Zim’s terrible, crooked _howling_ that didn’t even sound _partly like him._ Coughing, Dib clawed away, trying to find his legs and failing. He had no strength, even as he listened to Zim shriek and grip his face, yanking the knife away and spraying blood and gore as he did, heard it strike the wall and clatter across the floor. Dib’s hands found a dinner chair, used it for leverage, shakily finding his feet. His chest burned. _The front door, the front door-_ He tumbled for the entryway into the living room when the floor swam up and struck him in the face as he lost his balance and fell forward. He felt heat swelling up from his nose but couldn’t think straight enough to care. He found his knees a second time, then his feet, and then he was reaching, grabbing the wall and swinging into the living room, into the fungi-glow of the strange monkey painting hung over the couch, the rain pattering on the window, thinking _run run run GO_ , his lungs screaming for relief as he limped for the front door. His reflection was fish-eyed in the doorknob and Dib reached for it while a claw fisted the back of his shirt, yanking him backward. The momentum flung him around until he faced Zim’s snarling, bloodied face, who ran him through the middle of his stomach with a long, silvery PAK leg.

Everything, until now, had been so  _ fast.  _ The drinks at the bar, the fight in the alleyway, Zim’s PAK malfunctioning, fleeing through Meekleroth’s crowds. The crash, the rain, his father’s line of vats, everything, it all slammed together, a pendulum striking another with a resonating, soul-crushing  _ CRASH.  _ The momentum of the PAK leg swung Dib’s back into the door, making it shudder. His vision exploded with stars, purple, fuchsia, glittering, blackened things as a second PAK leg swung in, the other holding Zim high, high off the ground so that Dib might have to stare up in awe. Something Zim had always wanted.

Zim’s right eye was ruined, made almost hollow from the knife; thick, fuschia fluid flowed heavily from it as it tried to screw shut. A flash of lightning illuminated the room; Zim’s good eye was blank, his mouth drawn into a tight, expressionless line.

“ _ Zim- _ ” Dib’s voice was a whisper, strained, silent; the PAK legs tore out and Dib finally gasped, tasting copper in his mouth. Blood sprayed Zim’s face, standing out all too dark against his paleness. Time finally caught up to him as the same PAK legs drove in a second time; Zim’s fingers twitched while Dib reached, gripped the PAK legs sunk deep inside him as if he could pull them out. His shirt was blooming red. “Z...Zim, lis..listen- listen to m..me-” his legs were buckling beneath him. Everything felt heavy. “Stop, sss-stop  _ stop this- please-”  _ he wasn’t sure he could bear the pain now, it was bright, making him breathless where his lungs felt already suffocated. He wheezed, made a low, desperate sound, “Zim, y-you-” he was cut off when another PAK leg drove in. His vision swam, and then suddenly, he was swaying. He was vaguely aware that Zim had grabbed him with ruined claws and flung him aside as he had Gir. Or maybe he’d just torn the legs out. Dib couldn’t see.

Black spots danced before his eyes. Seconds drifted into minutes into hours into days into weeks. He was staring at the VCR Zim had in his entertainment center. Did he know that was totally retro? Maybe Gir insisted on keeping it. Maybe Zim didn’t care. The tile was cool against his cheek. So he was on the ground… Where was Zim? Was he okay?

A carpet of red was unfurling all around him. It was soft, warm, welcoming. He could hear a sound, something high pitched. Was it a cry? An alarm? Had the police arrived? An ambulance? Somewhere, something crashed. Glass shattered.

The rain against the windows. He could hear that. Singing him to sleep. He was so tired, every breath a labor. Dib was lying on the carpet and it was warm, like a cozy bed. He could still see. That was good. He tried to blink; where was he again? Who’s purple wallpaper was this? Who had drawn that odd blue stick figure on the wall, halfway hidden by a stack of B-rated horror movie tapes?

“ _..Z..Zim..? _ ” He croaked, although he wasn’t sure it’d made a sound at all. The name was drawn-out, the  _ Z  _ made into a  _ ssss  _ sound. Thunder rumbled through the living room. Had Zim calmed down? Or was he raging through his living room, preparing to finish Dib off? 

He tried to turn onto his back. It took years to do so, an effort that made him groan. He needed to find Zim, ask him if he was okay. Tak needed the parasite to ruin the Armada with, and Zim - Zim…

The ceiling overhead was a swirling canopy of wiring that coaxed him up, up to drift with them. Something was leaning over him, and with great pains, Dib’s eyes focused to see his father. The high collar of his lab coat and the expressionless goggles, Dib’s figure reflected in them like the ultimate allegory. There was some Biblical reference trying to connect itself in his head. Something about God’s image, and the Son. 

Was his father angry with him? For what? It was the childhood fear, always nagging at him, what with the hidden face.  _ Are you angry with me? Have I done something wrong?  _ But his father said nothing, and a cold fear managed to find him;  _ are you going to replace me? _

Dib choked; his throat felt clogged. Would Zim know the difference between himself and a clone? Surely he would, surely Zim knew him too well, he wasn’t that stupid. The image of another Dib, a  _ false Dib  _ standing in Zim's living room,  _ imposter, liar. _

_ I have to warn Zim.  _ When he tried to angle his head to find the Irken, lightning lit up the room again; there was a crooked, angular figure, gripping it’s head as if its brain might be splitting in two, standing just nearby, great, spidery legs sticking out like needles in a pincushion… And then the light faded, the darkness swimming up, swallowing him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really wanted this out by Halloween but I just couldn't finish it in time. Ah well. Happy Halloween!! I kinda agonized over this chapter so if you enjoyed it, please let me know! Thanks as always for reading if you've made it this far <3


	11. memory retrieval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines day!!!!! bet yall thought i was dead!!!!

_ If you’re going to kill him do it now. _

It’s the twelfth time Zim’s thought this, and yet his hands freeze. The leather stretches, his hands stuffed into his sweater pocket like a thief.  _ It would be so easy,  _ he thinks, scowling, while ahead, Dib scatters his thoughts with a halfway intelligible, “Look,  _ listen-”  _ he pauses, having turned in his stride through the green-black brush ahead to squint, pointing toward the sky. “ _ Hear that?” _

Zim blinks. Dib’s hair is askew from where he’s stumbled over a root and into a bush. There’s a cut along his jawline. The knees of his jeans are grass-stained. 

“I hear nothing, stink-breath,”

Dib frowns. “You don’t hear that? You’ve got like - super senses and super hearing and you don’t  _ hear that _ ? I  _ swear- _ ” then he’s mumbling something about no one ever having the capacity to think outside their stupid ego, and that the Jersey Devil very much does exist in his home town, even if it isn’t Jersey, and Zim thinks,  _ it would be so, SO easy. _

Firstly, Dib is drunk to hell and back. To  _ Irk  _ and back - Zim hates that his mind dwells in human language, although with the time  _ he’s  _ spent immersed in it, it’s only natural. He had been on one of his binges - not necessarily of drinking, but of not leaving his house. Zim knew this because he could access Dib’s school’s records and see when the professors marked him present or absent, excused, unexcused. Of course, professors notoriously left these records unmarked, but then Zim could always call Dib and pretend to be someone else. Maybe the pizza place or Gaz? Anyway, Dib didn’t answer even after the third call, and today (and the three days earlier) his professors had marked him absent, and one had dropped him from their class, and really Zim could only stand his own company for so long.

Not to mention the stakes were astronomical now. Which was why it was simply  _ appalling  _ that he was hesitating… But of course he was hesitating! This was only the weightiest decision of any of his plans  _ ever _ . No, not Dib living or dying - the doing it  _ right  _ part. Of course, this was Zim, Zim would get it right first try hands down,  _ however…  _ It still required thought. But anyway, wasn’t this a little…  _ Dishonorable? _

Ahead of him, Dib is saying, “- eighteenth century. Really I’d just conflate it with religious delusion, cause that breeds superstition, you know, but man, their records just go  _ way too far back!  _ WAY too far! It’s, it can’t- it’s not just a priest or some hallucination - it’s, it’s-” 

His back is to Zim. 

Dib is all limbs, was when they were kids and continues to be now. His legs, arms, a little too gangly for his body, which is like a plank. Dib grabs onto a branch when he loses his footing mid-sentence. The words  _ “-  _ goat-like, you know, sort of like the devil-” break into a breathy gasp, and Zim, in the middle of all of this, darts out a hand to steady him.

_ If you’re going to kill him- _

Dib is drunkenly giggling, righting himself, Zim’s hand inches away until Dib continues forward, saying, “you’re listening right?”

_ -Do it now. _

Zim’s hand remains outstretched.

Dib’s  _ back  _ is to Zim. Surely that would be unfair? Zim isn’t ashamed to cheat - winning is winning, after all - but certainly, Dib deserves better? Not only because he’s a taller now- loathe as Zim is to admit it - but because, well -  _ he’s the only worthy opponent Zim has ever faced.  _

Zim drops his hand as Dib turns, says again, “Did you hit your head or something _?  _ Come on, space boy, I’ve never seen you pass up a chance to talk,”

“ _ What _ ?” Zim hisses. His mood has been soured beyond return and it’s only worsening as Dib laughs softly as if he's said something funny. Zim grinds his teeth.  _ “WHAT,  _ human?”

“I asked if you were listening?”

“Of course I’m listening,” Zim growls.

“You’re not gonna, you know,  _ disregard  _ all this evidence I’ve presented to you? NO wise words for once?” Zim glares at him, deadpan. Dib shrugs. “You just weren’t saying anything,” he turns on his heel and continues forward, “wouldn’t be the first time you ignored me,,” Dib mumbles, without much malice, although it still makes something within Zim twinge.

It’s been a month since he was called back to Judgmentia. The memory makes Zim’s spine ache. The ports of his PAK still haven’t fully healed, they’d been so fried.  _ A lesser Irken would be dead.  _

It was a test. He’s certain it was; he’s been lazy, he’s been avoiding his work. Planet Earth continues to spin and here he is with this drunken excuse for a human, wandered into the woods at night, alone, his guards entirely lowered, and yet the human is still alive. 

The word  _ failure  _ climbs up his throat but Zim pushes it back, as well as the memory of those three days, and the knowledge that he was never  _ called back to Judgmentia,  _ he was  _ taken  _ there.

Suddenly, Dib cuts off the main path which was already becoming obscured with brush and encroaching shrubbery, and stumbles down a half-hill through the thick trees. 

Zim watches him. “What are you doing, human?” The trees here are pale, with strange black eye-like forms lining their bark. They creep Zim out.

“I told you I was gonna show you something,” Dib slurs, turning to face Zim, walking backward until he backs into a tree. He laughs. “You really haven’t been listening to me at-”

“Yes, Zim has been. We’re going to that stupid clearing.”

Dib’s face fell. “How’d you f-..figure it out-”

“Because you told me where we were going when we left your filthy apartment. Come on,” PAK legs activated, Zim delicately crosses over the suspicious-looking piles of dead, soaked leaves, and snatches Dib’s wrist to turn him around. This isn’t the way usually to the clearing but if Dib’s convinced it’ll get them there faster, then fine. In his fingers, Dib’s wrist is thin. It could snap, easily, like a twig or the legs of a bird. And although Zim knows Dib is far more agile, stronger, faster than he appears, it’s always struck Zim the absolute fragility of human life. How this species has continued as long as it has is beyond him.

He could, conceivably, make this painless. He could swing a PAK leg through the back of Dib’s neck - sever his spinal cord in a single thrust, so he’d feel nothing, would likely die instantly, and if not right away,  _ very, very quickly.  _ And he’d be unaware -... But that’s the worst part! Yet also, the kicker, because the other option is to face him directly, and Zim can imagine in too much clarity the hurt look Dib might get. Humans are so foolish. Their hearts tear so easily. They’re too emotional. They're too  _ obvious  _ about it. Dib would get upset, and then angry, and then upset again. Zim would have to explain why - whether Dib asked or not, because Dib would have to know. 

_ Don’t take this personally, human. It was meant to go this way all along. _

That’s why he brought Dib out here, right? Because this wasn’t Dib’s idea. This was Zim’s. 

“- it’s just, you never let me talk about these things so of course I’m gonna like.. Ramble when you ask me to-” How long’s Dib been mumbling behind him?

“Mm-hm,” noncommittal, distracted.  _ Was  _ this how it was meant to go, all along? While Dib is drunk and gleeful in a clearing in the dead of night because Zim coaxed him out of his house because he hadn’t seen the human in days? 

“Uh, Zim?”

“Hmm?” But Zim is looking ahead. The moon is so bright, like a mirror catching sunlight. The eyes on the trees watch, watch, a hundred thousand beady little things in a crowd. And the laughing... 

“Zim?”

“What?”

“Can you ease up?” Dib tugs him to a halt, and Zim whips around, irritated. 

“ _ Why? _ ”

“I think you’re about to break my wrist.”

Dib is staring at where Zim’s fingers are in an iron lock around his wrist. Zim stares at it, too. He never wore his uniform anymore, although the gloves never went away. Beneath them he imagines his knuckles were an off-green color, straining with effort. Zim pries his fingers away, one at a time, watches Dib rub the skin there. If he notices anything out of the ordinary at all, he says nothing.

He’d been planning on just offing the human in his own apartment. Let a neighbor find him in his own blood… Let it soak into the wood of his dark apartment and-

… And the image of it had made Zim’s stomach twist, and so of course, he hadn’t done it, and then Dib had peered out the window, marveled at how big the moon was (Zim had seen bigger). It hadn’t taken much prodding to get the human to put on his shoes, a jacket, and wander out to see it closer.

“Well?” Zim snaps, suddenly torn from his fourth reverie that night while Dib blinks up at him.

“Well what?”

“Your  _ clearing?” _

“Oh!” Dib’s face lights up and he stumbles past Zim as if he’s just remembered what they were doing “It’s a full moon tonight, did you notice? I haven’t done any werewolf hunting in ages Really I think our cities clear of them. Still,” and he’s rambling on. Zim watches him go, eyes lidded, thinking  _ why can’t you just DO IT?  _ It feels like something’s got the back of his shirt, is holding him back with a thread. Zim squares his shoulders, takes a step, and follows Dib, hands made into fists at his sides.

The clearing, when they reach it, is shaped like a perfect circle. The grass here is emerald green, overgrown and spattered with little yellow dandelions. Some are puffed out into little moons of white. Dib stumbles over rock, says, “It looks so beautiful at night,”

Dib’s head is tilted up to the sky where the moon fills the clearing and his face with white light. Zim follows his line of sight.

The stars here are pitiful, overridden by light pollution, but Zim can make out the pale yellow dots enough to feel a twinge of pain.  _ Home.  _ It’s so far away. He can’t go back - not yet, not until his mission is complete. Ahead, Dib swoops down and picks a yellow flower. 

“Are you  _ twelve _ ?” Zim grumbles, walking past the trees and into the open. He doesn’t like the brush of wind here, the way the trees don’t press in and hide him like spindly fingers. Everyone might see if he does  _ it  _ here. The trees are certainly watching. And there’s plenty of room to run away…

Dib sticks out his arm. Three wilting dandelions stick out of his fist. “Take one,”

“No,” Zim scowls. Dib frowns at him.

“You’re supposed to make a wish-”

“I know how the flower  _ works,  _ human,”

“There’s gotta be  _ something  _ you wanna wish for right now,”

“I would rather  _ rot  _ than humor primitive rituals of human delusion,  _ Dib. _ ”

Dib’s brow furrows. “Fine, you dick,” He turns away to concentrate on his own flower, tossing Zim’s aside. It lies in the grass, wet with dew.

Zim glares at Dib’s back.  _ Do it. Do it now- _

“What are you wishing for?”

Dib doesn't answer, shoulders tight with concentration. Zim’s mouth twists. He hates being ignored. “Human-”

“I’m focusing, shh-”

“Focusing on  _ what- _ ”

“ _ Shhh!!” _

Zim grinds his teeth and stomps past the human making a point to crush the flower beneath his boot as he goes. He doesn’t need wishes; he can carry out his will well enough on his own. 

Zim keeps his head angled up at the sky. Closes his eyes, and breathes deep. The air on the Earth’s surface is notoriously polluted, but in spaces like this, it rings with clarity. What was the air on Irk like?  _ Unbreathable.  _ There was good reason most of Irk had migrated to other planets, was housed primarily on the Massive and within the Armada. There was a good reason Zim’s childhood, if it could be called that, had been spent underground. Irk was a wasteland, plundered of all its valuable resources. Irkens were parasites, the empire was an invasive species. They devoured all they touched. 

Zim pauses, realizes he’s staring ahead at the white bark of those eye-trees. Watching them watch him.

Behind him, Dib blows out his dandelion.

“What did you wish for?” Zim asks again, glaring back at the tree.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” Dib’s voice is strangely melancholic, or maybe Zim’s just imagining things. The tree stares back at him and he squeezes his hands into fists. Releases them.

On Judgmentia, everything had felt cold. It was a planet devoid of life; all dark rock without any nearby stars to bring it real light. Artificial lamps and the glow of the Control Brains’ power nodes glow fuschia there. Nearly all the remaining Control Brains of his generation lived there. Two more lived with the Massive, in an unknown location (presumably the engine room but the ship was so  _ big,  _ who could know). Organic wires ran like veins through the rock. 

_ Perhaps that’s where they came from.  _ But that was absurd; the Control Brains were ancestors to Irkens, highly specialized and evolutionized over millennia. They carried within them the collective; if ever he felt afraid, he might know that even in death he wasn’t alone. 

_ Everybody gets a little lonely.  _ Zim swallows; Dib had said that once, also drunk (why was he always drunk?), lying on his back in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. A half-hearted attempt to get Zim to open up about what had happened that day _.  _ Of course, Zim didn’t budge. Would never budge.

“Zim?”

Zim starts, breaks his frightened stare from the tree, and turns on his heel to face Dib. How long had he been calling him? When he turns, the human is right behind him, staring down at him with a furrowed brow, eyes only a little glazed over from the liquor. Zim’s breath hitches; he takes a half step back. What sort of soldier was he, allowing the enemy to catch him off guard..? 

Dib’s eyes are a soft, near honey brown. Zim’s never seen such a gentle color before. There’s nothing on Irk that resembles it. The moonlight makes him look a little pallid, like he’s sick. A curl of black hair falls across his forehead. Zim’s fingers ache to reach up, tuck it away.

“You okay?” 

Zim opens his mouth, then closes it. He knows that if he speaks, his voice will come out soft, might even crack. This swell of emotion in his throat is overpowering, he isn’t sure where it’s come from. Behind Dib, a satellite is trekking its way across the sky, blinking red. 

The human draws closer. Zim’s pulse is hammering in his head. He screws his mouth shut tight, bites his tongue. 

“You look scared,”

Dib’s voice is clear as a bell. The thrum of insects, the hum of forest life has gone silent. There’s only Dib, and Zim’s claws drawn into a tight ball piercing the leather of his gloves thinking  _ kill him do it do it kill him kill him kill him  _ and Dib is drawing nearer and alarms scream in his head that maybe Dib has been planning this all along to draw him from his base out alone into this wretched clearing where he might kill Zim first but Zim doesn't react in time because Dib is clumsily bringing their mouths together.

Dib tastes like cheap rum.

Zim is motionless. He doesn’t open his mouth, hardly loosens his shoulders, and Dib doesn’t try to pry open his lips with his tongue. It’s still an honest kiss though - sincere, curious, but not pushy. Just as soon as he does it, Dib holds Zim away, hands squeezing Zim’s shoulders.

Zim doesn’t move. His eyes are big - he’s watching Dib, split between horror, fury, and a terrible aching in the middle of his chest. 

Dib’s hands squeeze his shoulders as he smiles crookedly. “Haha. Hah. Uh. Hm. You’re- uh. You look pretty pissed,” then he’s taking two, three steps back, adds, “I’m sorry. I’ve always wanted to do that. Nono, not always. Actually. No, it’s a pretty recent development. I used to wanna kick your teeth in,” he laughs at this last part as if it’s been a secret until now.

“What did you just  _ do?” _ Zim’s so thrown off he doesn’t even realize he’s said it in Irken _. _

Dib waves his hands. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry, it’s- hey, y-you- you  _ brought me out here,” _

_ “I brought you out here,” _

_ “Uh, yeah! Which like!  _ You were- weren’t you-” Dib searched him frantically as if whatever the hell he was on about would drop from the sky. Zim blinks, dumbstruck. “I-I mean its sort of a common make out spot- d-don’t  _ glare  _ at me like that, look I don’t know, you can just forget about it if you want, just don’t- I won’t bring it up again,”

Zim looks him up and down. “Did you think  _ that  _ was why I brought you out here?”

The pallid look has completely faded to beet red. Dib is looking everywhere but at Zim. “N-n-no, no,  _ no,  _ I- I don’t know- I thought- I thought you were just-” He touches the back of his neck, then runs hands through his hair (Zim’s fingers twitch; Dib’s hair is soft, he wants to run his own fingers through it, maybe grip the back of it and  _ tug- _ ). “T...Trying to be nice to me...” His voice fades to a near whisper. In the middle of the clearing, a breeze makes the trees rustle.

Zim thinks that no one has likely ever felt this way about him before. It’s a precious thing, something that builds inside him. It makes him angry. It makes him hurt. 

Zim’s eyes are wide, still, and fixed on Dib like he’s something to devour. “I brought you out here to kill you,”

“Oh,” Dib laughs, hand still behind his head. He doesn’t move when Zim draws near, doesn’t flinch when Zim lifts himself on glowing PAK legs, thinking of how thin the bones in Dib’s neck are, of how hot the skin is just above the artery in his throat.

“Oh?” Zim’s voice is as soft as he’d been afraid it would be. “Only  _ oh _ ? You aren’t worried? You aren’t afraid?” He grabs Dib’s arms, squeezing. Makes a point of digging his nails through the fabric of Dib’s jacket, knows Dib can feel the pinprick of them. “Zim brought you here to kill you and leave you to rot. Do you want to rot, human?” He leans in, feeling taut as a bow like he might snap and wring Dib dry here and now. It would be the human’s fault - he pushed him to this limit. Before him, Dib has the audacity to flinch and make the smallest of sounds. Zim falters.

He decides he must out-kiss Dib. Dib’s first attempt was sloppy. Drunken, of course, and gross. Zim can do better than that. So he parts Dib’s lips with his tongue, none too roughly because really it’s Dib who lets him in and tastes whiskey and human, intimately warm as Dib’s hands flutter to grab Zim’s arms, then his shoulders, his neck, his head. Zim’s own hands have drawn up to either side of Dib’s jaw to hold him in place. He thinks this _ is something to protect _ and isn’t sure if he means the confession or the person he’s holding. This is something to protect, intensely. Nothing can ever happen to  _ it.  _ It must never go harmed, and it’s his duty to defend it. These aren’t really Irken ideals, maybe warped ones, so Zim can only mentally whip himself halfway. Loyalty  _ is  _ strived for, although this is  _ not  _ what the Control Brains meant by that. Dib makes another sound, weak and half-formed; it might be Zim’s own name and he presses their mouths somehow closer together, feeling teeth click. His hands swim past Dib’s jaw to clutch his hair so tight it must hurt. He wants to pull the human apart, place him back together. Pin him like an insect to a board and watch him writhe-

Suddenly, Dib’s hands are pushing at Zim’s chest frantically and, torn from the reverie, startled, Zim lets him go.

“Dude-” Dib gasps.

“ _ What  _ could possibly be so important?” Zim is tense, expecting rejection, planning a very long monologue and also, the strength to kill him because if he so much as  _ dares  _ to reject the Almighty Irken Zim as a ma _ - _

“You c-can’t just hold me in place like that! You might not have to breathe much but  _ I  _ do,” he puts a hand to his chest, cheeks flushed, hair askew from Zim’s grabbing. After catching his breath he draws forward. “Um. Okay. You can keep going,” 

Zim pushes him suddenly back. “What? Ew, no. Not again. Once was enough. Twice was too much. No,”

“Why not? Why did you even bother kissing me if you-”

“ _ Kissing _ ? Zim did not ‘kiss’ you-”

“Wh- you JUST KISSED ME!”

“Shut up!” Zim hisses, clapping a hand over Dib’s mouth. “No more. You’re giving me a migraine with your  _ whining _ , human, no more- _.”  _ His breath is hot under Zim’s hand. Zim scowls. “Okay, fine  _ once more- _ ” as soon as his hand is gone, Dib leans in the same moment Zim does. This kiss is softer. There is no harsh grabbing or scraping teeth. Dib holds the front of Zim’s sweater tightly enough to make his knuckles white, and Zim’s own hands cup his cheeks. The taste of liquor is still repugnant but Zim can think it aside, for now. His chest hurts, but as the kiss softly deepens, he creaks open his eyes. Dib is lost in the kiss, eyes closed, holding Zim tight, glasses pushed aside.  _ I have to protect this.  _ If the Tallest’s still want Earth, then surely they’d offer favors if Zim secured it? Surely an Invader can have his slaves? His  _ paramours?  _ Did Irken’s have paramours? Did it matter if they didn’t? He is  _ Zim  _ after all. Anyone who tells him no could simply die. He could have whatever he wanted. And if someone tries to take this away? 

Zim pulls Dib closer, drawing him in and biting down on the human’s lip until the skin breaks and he tastes  **BLOOD-**

  
  


**_MEMORY COLLECTION FAILURE. PAK CAPACITY AT 13%_ **

**_INTERNAL FAILURE DETECTED. CORROSIVE MALWARE DETECTED. PAK CAPACITY AT 10%. LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEM REPORTING INTERNAL FAILURE. PAK CAPACITY AT 7%. CORROSIVE MALWARE DETECTED. SEEK-_ **

  
  


**_\------_ **

  
  


Gaz nearly lost her footing as she threw the kickstand on her bike. As she tugged off her helmet, tucking Dib’s gift under her arm, she angled her head up to watch black smoke curl up, up, into the grey sky. Rain pattered down, rolling off her cheek. From this spot, she could see the crooked wing of an Irken ship. A failed landing having destroyed the attic and landing pad she knew was hidden up there. The octagon-shaped window that peered out at the street was shattered, glass clinging to its frame. Gaz tilted her head back until rain struck her forehead. The smoke disappeared into the rain clouds overhead. The smoke was a thick black; so this was a new fire.

She took the long, narrow walkway before Zim’s toxic dump of a house. The rain hadn’t let up all morning, making the sky a mournful grey. She liked the rain, liked the dreariness, liked the way the puddles were drowning the neighbors garden right now. 

Zim was a disaster, so fire coming from his house wasn’t that alarming, which might account for the fact that no one had called the fire department yet.

She knocked.

If Dib were here and too busy gaying it up with his stupid enemy, she’d punch him for all the anxiety he’d caused her.  _ If he’s NOT here….  _

Gaz knocked again, impatient. No doubt Zim was upstairs, dealing with whatever he’d done this time but certainly, the robot dog was watching television, and it usually only took two or three knocks to get his attention. Gaz knocked harder.

A flash of lighting. Thunder rocked the cement beneath her feet. She leaned to the left and peered into the living room window. The curtains were drawn but for a crack. Inside, it was pitch black, motionless. She chewed the inside of her cheek, then knocked again.

“ _ Zim _ ! I swear to God if you don’t open this fucking-” her hand on the knob, rattling it, budging the door open. It creaked forward and she paused. Zim was a notorious paranoid. Why was the door-

The stench of blood assaulted her. Orange light from the streetlight behind her flooded the dark living room. Blood, of alien and human variety, was smeared everywhere. She drew in a sharp breath, taking a step forward and heard a soft splash. She looked down, found her foot in the middle of a wide black-red puddle. Gaz dropped the helmet and Dib’s gift. The sound they made was dull, muffled. There came ahead of her a rough sound, like a growl-

In the middle of the living room, Zim was a bloodied mess, cradling Dib against his chest and poised halfway over him as if to protect him. His glare was on the doorway, and a split second later recognition flooded his good eye - the other was swollen shut bleeding pus.

Gaz felt like she might be sick. “What the fuck… Did you do…?” 

Zim moved as if to get to his feet, but his PAK was sparking and his right arm look badly bent. He clutched Dib tight to himself; the light shifted over her shoulder and she saw his shirt was black-red with blood. 

“You-” Zim’s voice was a desperate rasp. “There isn’t any time- H..Help me… Help him -  _ please-” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if youre enjoying the fic thus far, consider letting me know in the comments!! I'll b honest I burnt myself out a bit at the end of last year bc of lack of confidence... but this fic is still fun to write, and still on my mind.   
> in the meantime, stay healthy! see u all soon!


	12. pieces of memory and a copy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all SO MUCH for all of the encouragement and kind words last chapter!! You have no idea how important and meaningful it is to hear feedback on my work - and I really appreciated the time you all took out of your day to comment. Thanks so much. So excited to keep moving with this fic! <3 this chapter will be a lil bit shorter than usual btw

The elevator descended painfully slowly. 

Gaz’s hands were already slicked with rapidly drying blood. She forced a breath through her mouth, glancing at the Irken from behind her hair. Zim’s eyes - no, eye - the left was squeezed shut, and swollen, discolored a filthy dark green, and bleeding pus - was fixed on the screen above the doors. Gaz watched the symbols on it shift until suddenly the doors opened and he was gathering Dib up. Darkness spilled into the dimly lit elevator. Wordlessly, they carried Dib into Zim’s lab. Zim nearly tripped, once, on the PAK legs that remained disengaged from his PAK. Gaz didn’t understand why he hadn’t gotten rid of them, although she figured it had something to do with the completely dimmed-out lights of his PAK. That wasn’t normal, but she couldn’t gather the empathy to ask.

He’d said nothing else since he’d asked for her help, and neither had Gaz. It wasn’t out of politeness for his fragile ego, rather the situation didn’t call for insults, at least not yet. And loathe she was to admit it, her heart was in her throat. Dib’s breath was so shallow she couldn’t rely on it. His clothes were caked with blood. Bruises bloomed around his throat, on patches of his face. He looked horrible.

The room Zim led them into was massive; she recognized it as the main room he did most of his work in - or most of the work he allowed her, and Dib to see. The ceiling overhead was shrouded in shadow; when light bounces near it, she glimpsed the slick wiring of the Irken computer that ran the place. The base hummed with unnatural life; it didn’t sound the way a transformers box or a powerline might, but rather something higher-pitched, something that made her vaguely uncomfortable. She didn’t understand why Dib liked it here so much…

_ Dib.  _

Zim shouted orders to the ceiling in Irken - his voice was hoarse, strange, and it cracked from the volume. He was on edge and seemingly for more reasons than Dib literally dying in his arms. His strange glare was stalking around the room - perhaps for enemies? Clearly, someone had torn them to pieces - although Gaz feared - suspected - that this might’ve been something far more personal…

She glared at Zim while the lab around them came to life upon his command. Behind them, a massive screen lit up, displaying strange text and diagnostics as the computer overhead responded - also in Irken. Zim led them away from the room down a long corridor until finally, a white light appeared at the other end. Dib wasn’t heavy between, what with Zim’s help as well as Dib's unhealthy food habits. He was prone to skipping meals and eating lightly if only because of Zim-related distractions. 

The second room was long, filled with tall, pod-like structures, some inhabited by floating Earth creatures. Gaz spotted a cat, a pig, and what might’ve been human remains floating in water when Zim hooked his boot around the leg of a chrome gurney pushed against one of the pods. He drew it toward them, and together they maneuvered Dib to lie across it. Zim immediately used his new arms to push the gurney toward a pod that had just opened, this one containing a myriad of strange, sterile machinery that opened out like the infinite suitcase of a door-to-door salesman. His right arm was held against his chest, seemingly useless. An unsettling, neon-green light emitted from each pod.

“What are you doing?” 

Zim glanced at her, perhaps because she hadn’t said a word since they’d climbed into the elevator, or maybe because her voice, even to her, was strange and tight. 

“Surgery. And a blood transfusion.”

Gaz set her teeth. Even as battered as he looked, with one mangled arm, he handled Dib like one might a bird’s egg; it helped that he’d grown two more pairs of arms out of his ribs at some point recently. Immediately Zim set to work; he reached up and pulled down a screen. He tore off his gloves. There was a cloth and strange, chalky substance that popped out of another compartment that he took up and scrubbed at his hands with. He gestured with his head somewhere behind him.

“There’s a station to clean your hands somewhere behind you.” Gaz had no problem finding it.

When she came back, he was attaching a breathing mask to Dib’s face. His claws hooked around Dib’s chin, angling him only slightly to examine the bruises forming around his neck. There was the briefest of pauses, one Gaz caught. Zim’s eyes looked haunted, confused as his slim fingers fluttered to the injury. Then the expression was gone and, and he was snatching a pair of scissors from another compartment to begin on Dib’s clothes. He’d already managed to get the coat out of the way. Dib was her brother, and so there was no real concern for modesty; Zim was Zim, self-explanatory. Not that any of it mattered; the damage was extensive.

Gaz withheld a gasp, feeling white-hot anger make her eyes sting. Viscera was bright pink beneath where the skin had been punctured with something deadly sharp and wide. There looked to be at least seven to ten punctures, starting from his abdomen and reaching up as far as the middle of his chest.

“I’m gonna kick your ass later for this,”

Zim’s non-ruined antenna twitched. With the overhead light, he leaned over, examining the gashes. His mouth was set tight. He muttered something.

“What’s wrong?”

Gaz watched Zim turn his back, reaching into a compartment within the medical bay. He touched something on the interface. It spoke in mechanical, rapid Irken. Whatever it said must’ve been unexpected. Zim looked briefly frantic before regaining his composure and doing something quick to the slim chrome tank that was attached to the long tube that seemed to be supplying oxygen. Dib’s vitals were weak, slow. Gaz’s fist clenched; her heart stuttered. The interface suddenly chirped an alarm that made the alien jerk. He made a low, frightened sound, almost a whimper-

“Zim, I swear to god-”

“There’s- extensive organ damage,” Zim’s hands were trembling. “And he- something isn’t right with- with the lungs-” there was a twinge to Zim’s voice she’d never heard before. Gaz wasn’t squeamish, but context mattered. Despite herself, she wanted to take Dib’s hand, and squeeze it. She wanted him to wake up so she could yell at him for getting into a fight with dad. Behind them, a trail of blood smeared in footprints, coin-shaped droplets. When she glanced again at the tears in his chest, stomach and saw, for an instant, the shiny movement of muscle as he shallowly breathed, she squeezed her eyes shut.

“We have spare parts.”

_ Sorry, Dib. _

Zim didn’t spare her a glance, talking quickly, “We’ve no time to visit a human hospital-”

“I’m not talking about a hospital, moron.”

Really she thought Zim knew by now. He was leaning into the interface again when he paused. “What are you talking about?”

“He-” was this something she had any authority to say? Did it matter while Dib bled out on a gurney? “.. Dad has clones. A lot of them,”

“Then we have to go there now-”

“But he-”

Zim spun, tapping rapidly at the interface. “The medbay can utilize stasis and keep him stabilized,”

“For how long?”

“Long enough. Wait here,” as if he’d found some renewed energy, Zim rushed down the narrow walkway that was the room around them, the place made crowded by the strange pods. He turned a sudden corner, leaving her alone.

  
  


\------

  
  


Zim fell back against the wall of a corridor, breathing heavily. The door he’d stepped through slid shut soundlessly. Nausea swam throughout him. He had been waiting to die since the moment he’d regained consciousness; his PAK was entirely unresponsive, and everything ached. Surely by now, ten minutes had passed.  _ There isn’t time. Get up. _ He dragged himself from the wall, PAK legs scraping behind him.

“Computer, prepare my medbay immediately,” he stumbled down the hall. Overhead, the familiar voice confirmed the command. His brain was fuzzy. 

Maybe he was lucky. Maybe his PAK  _ was  _ running but at minimal capacity.  _ Then why isn’t it telling me anything?  _ And if it was, he’d still be unconscious; Irken’s never slept, except in the case of extreme injury; if the PAK could not run at at least thirty percent capacity it would enforce a partial shut down. He shouldn’t be functioning right now.

A moment of intense vertigo. Zim moaned and clapped a hand over his ruined eye, his broken arm held gingerly across his chest. The eye throbbed all the way to the back of his skull. The feeling was near unbearable, though not as sharp as his left antennae, or the broken joints in his fingers, or the strain in his head as if someone were hammering into his skull. He fought back becoming sick and drew in a breath. 

He stumbled into a smaller, darker room, cramped with machinery and complex equipment; a room meant for PAK repairs. Gir had dragged boxes and other discarded material to form a mini fort in one corner of the room. Distantly, Zim wondered where the robot was. He felt a pang of deep concern, then saw the medical bay, a clear dome with a soft place to lie within light up in preparation. Zim nearly collapsed into it.

He ordered a PAK evaluation. That needed immediate attention; everything else could wait. Whatever had done this to him and Dib could not be dealt with if he could not fight it. Two metallic arms set him upright, while a claw-like contraption attempted to attach itself to the ports of his PAK. His PAK legs dangled uselessly around him. Irritated, Zim shoved them aside with one of his newer arms.

“ _ Three of three PAK ports blocked. Please remove all debris from-” _

Zim reached behind himself and gripped the base of his PAK legs with two fists - one leg had gone missing sometime during his assault - his mangled arm crossed over his chest while one of his new arms worked. He sucked in a breath and pulled. It felt like tearing roots from a tooth, although the PAK legs were as damaged as he’d expected them to be. They came away far easier than they should have. Heaving a breath, Zim tossed them aside as he nearly collapsed forward. His entire self shook. 

The claw-like contraption inserted itself into the ports, which acted halfway like an organic open wound. Zim gripped the armrests of the medical bay, gasping. PAK legs could be replaced. While he braced for the PAK to be checked, the Computer dropped a communications interface before him. 

“Initiate all emergency defenses now,” If he could not defend his base he would have to rely on the base to do the work for him. 

The claw had latched onto his PAK and slid into the emptied ports. He felt a pressure release along his spine and he held his breath-

An error signal flashed. 

_ “No PAK detected.” _

Zim might’ve swooned. 

“That’s impossible-”

If he had no PAK he had no time, and if he no time, Dib would-

Panic was swelling up his chest and closing his throat. Any second now he might keel over and-

“ _ Master,”  _ the Computer’s voice made him jolt,  _ “There seems to be an infection detected originating from the ports along your spine,” _

Zim clutched the armrests of the gurney. “What does that mean?” He ground out.

A beat of silence. “ _ Evaluation cannot be completed without a full PAK removal and- _ ”

“I can’t  _ DO  _ that! Y-you’d have to hook me up to the bay and- the human-” he couldn’t get the words right. He felt like he was suffocating.

“ _ The human can remain stabilized for several hours-” _

Zim’s claws tore into the armrest. He didn’t need a PAK evaluation to know he’d not only need to hook himself up to the med bay in order to survive the removal, but he’d also need severe anesthetics to handle it - and that would put him to sleep.

His memories of the last - what was it? Hours?  _ Days? _ Were less than murky - they were near nonexistent like his head had been plunged under dark water. Zim’s breath came fast. “You will not remove my PAK. We’ll deal with it later, then.”

“ _ Sir, estimates believe the infection has infiltrated your bloodstream, and I am receiving zero response from your PAK regarding-” _

“I wasn't asking, Computer-”

“ _ But Master-” _

“Scan the base for enemies!” He was shaking so much he couldn’t sit still. He leaned forward, holding his head. Whatever. So his PAK was a lost cause. He didn’t have time to waste then. Sitting up too quickly, he set his arm in the armrest. The medbay knew what the gesture meant, having already scanned him for injuries. A slot slid up and around his mangled, throbbing arm. The bone was not protruding but it was very clearly broken. Without his PAK, the medbay would have to set it. And without anesthetics- “Computer, locate Gir.”

Overhead, the Computer announced, “ _ There are no enemies within the base.” _

“Impossible. Scan it again,” The medbay, had created a padded splint and was awaiting confirmation to set the bone. It offered anesthetics, but he was impatient. Zim looked away, gritting his teeth. “Well?”

Overhead, the Computer repeated, “ _ There are no enemies within the base. _ ” At the same moment, he felt at first gentle pressure against the unnatural angle of his arm. The pressure suddenly intensified and with a quick movement, pushed the arm back into his natural shape. There was a terrible popping sound as pain shot up his shoulder, making his head swim. Zim bit down on his finger until it bled; the medbay noted the new, minor injury. The screen asked again to apply anesthetic. He twitched his good hand to swipe the message away - in the same instance, its corresponding  _ new  _ arm twitched to move as well. Zim shuddered. When he was finished with Dib, he would see if the medbay could do something about these new arms; surely wherever they’d come could take them back… While they were appendages he’d previously been unaware of, they were apart of Irken biology he’d always known about. Something old and primitive and necessary in times of extreme duress or mental degradation. Zim didn’t let that knowledge take much seed in his head. The appendages disgusted him.

The Computer said, “ _ SIR unit location UNKNOWN.” _

Zim glared at the base’s communication interface. His pulse was beating wildly, and it wasn’t just because of the pain. He held his hand over his bad eye, while the medbay procured an eyepatch for him, sleek and black. “Can you provide me with nothing useful, Computer? 

There came no response. 

“Who is in my base?”

“ _ No one _ -”

“ARGH, FINE. If you won’t tell me, then bring me the surveillance of the base! I’ll just see it myself!”

There was another beat that this time Zim recognized as hesitation. _  
_ “ _Perhaps first, master, you should allow me to do a memory recollection on your PAK-”_

“That’ll take hours-”

“ _ When you are finished with the human-” _

“SHOW ME!” Paranoia and terror were cold in his gut. A flash of a memory, the blue-eyed Irken slipping behind him. He felt a terrible ache from somewhere near where the PAK cables were slid into his back and latched onto his spine. As he slipped on the eyepatch, flinching as it brushed his ruined antennae, he disengaged the PAK ports. There was a sharp pinch as his PAK relatched itself. He felt no rush of information, no hum of voices, no warmth of life. Only deafening silence.

The computer’s communication interface cut to brief static, then, footage of his living room hardly twenty minutes ago.

  
  


\----

  
  


When Zim returned some six minutes later he was paler than he’d been before. His PAK looked worse for wear - his PAK legs were suddenly gone, and his mangled arm had been splinted. His bad eye was hidden by an eyepatch. He said almost nothing. Gaz didn’t ask. If he was losing his mind because of Dib, then good. He deserved that much.

Letting Zim ride on the back of her bike was not an instance she’d ever have imagined she’d run into. She didn’t have an extra helmet, and Zim didn’t have his disguise. The rain had fallen to a weak, periodic drizzle. When a drop landed on the top of his palm as he climbed onto the back of her bike, hissing with steam, he muttered that it didn’t matter.

She hadn’t gone from Zim’s house to her own in years. The back of her mind itched to feel something like nostalgia, but Zim was deathly quiet, and wouldn’t stop trembling, and Dib was nowhere nearby rambling about bigfoot. Her head hurt.

Dad wasn’t home, as was to be expected. Through the kitchen, down the basement, over the broken glass dad hadn’t cleaned up yet, boots leaving wet prints from the vat that had busted. The body was gone, though, and that was a relief. Before they began, she gave herself a second to stare at her dad’s magnum opus, and wonder how love could feel like nothing at all. 

Zim touched the cold surface of one vat blinking up at its contents. She couldn’t read his expression. But then, she rarely could.

“Does your father-unit intend to share immortality with your race?”

Gaz was beginning the process of dragging out the ice-cases kept in a morgue-like room just beside this one. She pushed a gurney into the room and stepped behind the vat Zim was staring into. A security code blinked up at her. She punched in her own and Dib’s birthday. It flashed green, and the draining process began.

“No,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Why would he?”

“Immortality is a gift.”

“Eh, I could take it or leave it. Get over here and help me.”

It went like a frantic autopsy. Anyone else would’ve been clumsy but even Zim was able to set aside his mental breakdown to enact precision around the cuts. He didn’t ask where her own copies were; he didn’t say anything at all. And although talking to fill silence was not something she ever did, as Zim placed a pair of bright red lungs into the ice case, Gaz said, “He hates that these exist,”

“Who?” Zim blinked blearily at her

“Dib.”

“Oh.”

“He’ll hate this.”

Something dark came over his features as he looked aside. “Oh.”

Zim went back to work.

Dad could deal with the aftermath. She left a pink sticky note to the newly empty vat. In high school, one Zim-related incident had ended with Dib breaking a leg, as well as requiring stitches along his side. Their father had found the injury childishly endearing, glad that Dib at least had a “friend”. A full organ transplant couldn’t be that big a deal.

  
  



End file.
